


The Watcher

by stickylips14



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe- hellrift, Anal Sex, Anxiety, Blood and Gore, Death, Demons, Explicit Language, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Fluff and Smut, Ghosts, Guilt, Hance - Freeform, Hellrift, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Paranormal, Past Substance Abuse, Psychic Abilities, Psychic!Allura, Religious lore, Romance, Smoking, Supernatural Elements, Suspense, Unreliable Narrator, a very confused Shiro, demon hunter!Keith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-17 05:02:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 66,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10586973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stickylips14/pseuds/stickylips14
Summary: My name is Keith Kogane, and I am the person who takes down the things that go bump in the night.It's a hard and unrewarding job, but when you're living on top of an active hell-rift, it's a necessity. On the plus side, sometimes I meet cute guys in bad situations, and sometimes I manage to not make a bad situation worse.Sometimes.





	1. Chapter 1

See, ghouls are typically an easy mark. If they’re on their own they’re just kind of gross scavengers who dig through literal garbage, filling up on day-old take out and all those bills you keep throwing out and ignoring. They reek to _high heaven_ , but they’re easy kills. They’re not even at the top of my priority list, no one really calls in to complain about them. At least, not until they eat someone.

It happens. Someone has to take the trash out at closing time, and sometimes that person swings open the dumpster and then the dumpster fucking eats them. That’s where I come in. That’s where I am now, standing in the mouth of an alleyway where a dumpster is rattling faintly and, since I’ve been here, has thrown up two armfuls of chewed up cardboard boxes and what appears to have been an ancient-ass fax machine.

Who am I?

I’m Keith Kogane, supernatural garbage man extraordinaire. I’m the one who takes down the things that go bump in the night, and any ideas you have about the people in my line of work are fucking _wrong_ , I assure you. I don’t cruise around the country in a vintage car taking out new and interesting demons and ghosts every week, getting by on stolen credit cards and devilish charm, girls falling at my feet wherever my broody-ass goes. This is my fucking _life,_ and shit doesn’t always end tied up in a neat little bow. Shit goes sideways, and there is no final Big Bad that I’ll take down that brings this all to an end. It’s not like in movies and TV shows, it’s not glamorous. 

For one, I’m literally about to go toe-to-toe with something that’s been rooting around in a dumpster all day. Secondly, I don’t get to leave my city to keep occupied, unfortunately. I am by no means an intrepid traveller because Garrison is a shitty hellhole with its own _personal_ shitty hellhole right underneath it that keeps spewing up all sorts. Periodically it gets cranky and things get worse, then it calms down again but even on its chillest days I’ve got my hands full. I’m sure there’s a whole lot more I could say at this point, I could confirm or deny that I’m a broody guy with a chip on my shoulder, or I could get to gutting the trash monster that just made the dumpster jump away from the alley wall. Trash monster first. It’s getting a little conspicuous, my standing here staring at a dumpster with my hand behind my back. Not many people can actually see what I see, but that doesn’t make my presence any more soothing to them, and it doesn’t mean they can’t get hurt.

I pop the catch on my knife’s sheath against the small of my back, taking a few steps forward to pick up a discarded beer bottle before winging it at the dumpster. It shatters loudly on contact, and I grit my teeth.

It’s late. The streets are fairly quiet, so hopefully no one comes by, otherwise they might find themselves on the menu.

The dumpster stills. I drum my fingers on the handle of my knife before pulling it out, twirling it in my fingers, and get ready to deal with this gross motherfucker.

The ghoul lunges out of its trash castle, up onto the opposite alley wall, its long, pale limbs scrabbling awkwardly looking for purchase in the slimy brick and when it can’t find any, it drops to the ground. Its huge, dark eyes roll around in their sockets and its wide, black mouth snaps and spits greenish-black ooze and trash juice.

Gross.

I roll my shoulders and slide my feet wider apart, dropping down into a battle stance just in time for the thing to lunge, throwing its jaws open and drawing back one of its sharp, spindly hands. I swing to the side, throwing my knife from one hand to the other to bring it down into the ghoul’s back, just under its ribcage which is visible under its thin, milky skin. Black blooms around the hole my knife left and the thing howls wetly and swings out at me, smacking me over the face with the back of its hand, smearing what I hope is mud but is definitely dumpster soup over my cheek and sends me reeling aside. Fuck. I shake my head and try not to gag, taking off after the ghoul as it scrambles clumsily out of the alleyway and out onto the street.

Fuck.

Like I said- ghouls are an easy mark _on their own_ . They’re solitary hunters but if there’s one there’s likely to be a dozen more close by. That’s when things gets a little difficult to handle and that’s what I’m trying to avoid happening right now as I haul ass up the sidewalk, grateful that there hasn’t been snow recently or I’d likely be on my ass by now. I slide around a corner, slamming into a mailbox with a curse but keep going. I shove my knife back into its sheath while skidding around the few pedestrians still out and about because a weird guy with a bowie knife tends not to go down so well in public- and force my legs to go a little faster to keep up with the tail end of the ghoul as it weaves and twists, scrabbling over stoops and dropping black ooze on the sidewalk from where I stabbed it, which is not slowing it down at all. My lungs are _burning_ and, not for the first time, I ponder the benefits of getting some exercise outside of chasing/being chased. Ha.

The ghoul whips down into an alleyway and I push myself harder, my hand on the grip of my knife again as I skid around the mouth of the alleyway and have to flail my arms around to lose some momentum because, oh, _fuck_ . The ghoul is climbing up the chain link fence _backwards,_ its slick black tongue lolling over its grinning lips as it crawls up to join all of its fucking siblings. I count at least ten before they disappear up into the shadows and I scramble backwards, letting go of my knife in favor of desperately searching through the inside pockets of my coat for what I hope I have there, _please._ I can hear these things hissing and whispering pure malice to one another, the sound of nails scratching along the brick as they move in on me from above.

My fingers dig into coarse fabric and whip out a long strip of rough, dirty looking cotton. Here’s hoping the guy I got it off was telling the truth about it having been wrapped around one of the twelve disciples of Jesus or some shit. Worth a shot. I hastily wrap it around my fist and dig into my hip pocket for my lighter. Adrenaline is making my hands shaky, but I try to look cool and calm as I level these fuckers with a glare and try to get my lighter to work. I finally hear it click to life and bring the flame up to the cloth around my hand and light it up, shoving my hand up high above me and hide my face into the elbow of my free arm to protect myself from the blinding fucking holy light that comes off the thing like a flash-bang grenade. There’s a nails-on-chalkboard shriek and satisfying _whoomf_ as the ghouls go up in flames. I squint up through my eyelashes, shaking my hand hard to throw off the last few burning strands of the cloth and embers. Ash flitters down over the alleyway. I shake my hand a few more times for good measure, checking it over. No burns. So that was legit, huh. I wish I hadn’t been forced to use it on something as lame as a horde of ghouls, but I was massively outnumbered. I’m good, but I’m not _that_ good.

I heave a sigh and touch my fingertips to the cheek I’d been smacked across, grimacing when I find that it was a fun combination of mud _and_ trash juice on my face. Great. I wipe my hand off on my jeans and dig into my coat pocket for my cigarettes, shoving one between my lips, crossing my eyes to stare down at it, slightly bent, chagrined. I light it anyway and take a long, deep drag before I turn on my heel, ready to go home.

I stop in my tracks.

Standing in the mouth of the alleyway is a man looking like he’d just been slapped across the face, gaping at me, at the empty space above and behind me. Ah, fuck. I ash my cigarette and lick my lips before returning it to them, trying to look casual as I slide my hands into my coat pockets and take a few steps forward. The guy doesn’t run, adjusting the grip he has on the strap of his messenger bag and nothing else. I stop just short of him, exhaling an impressive amount of smoke to try and look intimidating or something, but the fact that I have to crane my neck a little to look at him undercuts my badassery. The man takes a half step back from me, searching the alley one last time before his focus turns fully to me. I ash my cigarette again. “How much of that did you see?”

“There was-” He starts, and I’m starting to count my blessings. “Those pale… things. You lit your hand on fire and there was this bright light, and those things- did you kill them?”

“Their corporeal forms, yeah.” I reply with a sniff. He seems pretty freaked out, which for me, is a good thing. Like I said, most people don’t see the things I see. They haven’t got the sight because it’s not a common gift, though I use the term ‘gift’ real fucking loosely. I was born with it, but there are other ways of obtaining it and they all fucking _suck_. I really, really don’t gloat about the fact that I see the things I see, because to be perfectly honest with you I wouldn’t wish this shit on my worst enemy. If you don’t have people around you to explain to you what the fuck is going on, you lose your mind. You do. I’ve seen it and I understand it. Don’t ever let someone tell you there isn’t a fucking monster under your bed. If you see that motherfucker, that motherfucker is real and you get to join a really lame club. Anyways, back to this poor guy. I’m not saying he didn’t see what happened- he did. People can get too close and it can become unavoidable, but then the denial gland kicks in and they start to rationalize it all away and their lives gone on per usual. My talking to the guy about it isn’t going to change that. I’ll become part of whatever story he spins himself. The guy pushes a hand through his hair, his black bangs flopping back over his forehead immediately.

“Corporeal- so what, they were like… Demons?” He asks eventually, and I smile around my smoke. Smart boy, he gets a gold star. I ash my cigarette and step around him, back out into the street and I start walking the way I came. After a moment, I hear him come after me, falling into step beside me. “Were they demons? Are you a demon hunter?”

“Do you think they were demons?” I ask him kind of just to add to the air of mystery around me at the moment.

Listen, I spend a lot of time with dead things. Talking to an actual human being is a rare thing that I try to enjoy when they’re worth it. And just between you and me, this guy is pretty damn hot. He’s Asian-American like I am but he’s built like a fuckin’ superhero with that insane shoulder to waist ratio they have, along with a strong, square jaw and a very pleasant looking mouth. His undercut has all these interesting, tidy designs shaved into it. His eyebrows draw together in concentration and a little plea of mercy from me so I come to a stop at the mailbox I had winded myself on before, grinding my cigarette out under my boot and leaning back against the cold blue metal. It’s around eleven o’clock and it feels like it. I keep my hands deep in my pockets.

“Yes.” He finally replies, and I squint up at him. His resolve doesn’t shrink under my scrutiny and I refuse to let any of those pretty blessings I had just finished counting slip away. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other when I say nothing, licking his lips as he leans forward a little. He talks in a stage whisper, I assume not on purpose. It’s not like there’s anyone else around. Hm. “They were demons, weren’t they? Who are you?”

Ah. See? He doesn’t have the sight. He just believes. There’s a difference. Just because you get a peek behind the curtain doesn’t mean you’ll get pulled all the way through. He’s probably one of those people who writes forum posts about ghost encounters. Isn’t it his lucky night. Well, sort of. I hunch my shoulders up so I can nuzzle my face down further into my scarf. “Keith.” I reply simply, and there’s a flicker in his eyes that betrays a second of disappointment. Who was he expecting? Val Helsing? Sorry, guy, just me. I push away from the mailbox and step over to the curb to try and signal down a taxi. The first one just keeps on driving so I flip it the bird and keep kinda waving my hand around like an idiot to get the attention of the next one when it comes by. My bed is calling me, I swear. You came in late, but it’s been a long ass day. The guy is still standing there. I glance over my shoulder at him, eyebrows raised. “Why’d you ask?”

“Huh?” He blinks a couple of times. Must have been caught up in thought.

“If they were demons. You already knew they were.” I say with a shrug, waving my hand a little more frantically as I see a cab crawl up the road. Come on.

“I guess I only just started believing in them.” He says after a beat and my perpetual frown deepens. No. He’s still just a guy. He’ll paper over it all with logical explanation by morning. The cab pulls up and I open the door.

“Hey-”  
“Shiro,” he provides.

“How long have you lived in Garrison?” I ask, one foot in the car, all my precious air conditioned heat getting sucked out. Shiro scratches the back of his head with a gloved hand.

“Uh, five years?” I nod a little and slide into the seat.

“Then consider yourself lucky that this is your first time seeing this shit up close, and go home.” I deadpan and make to close the door, but he catches it and holds it steady. I level him with a stare that bounces right off of him and he leans in towards me, suddenly a little more frantic than before.

“I think I need your help.” He says quietly, his gaze flickering up to the driver who could give less of a fuck about what we were doing or saying. I consider him for a moment and then decide I’m too tired for this. I yank the door out of his grasp.

“Then call my manager.” I don’t look back as the driver pulls away from the curb. I give him my address and dig my phone out of my ass pocket with some maneuvering, unlocking it and digging up my last text conversation with Allura to let her know that the job’s done and I’ll be around in the morning to pick up my paycheck.

The cab pulls up outside of my building and I give my driver twenty bucks and let him keep the change, since he was blissfully silent the whole time. Okay. Maybe my _talking to the living_ standards are a little fucked. I’ll talk to hot strangers and strangers who are paying me to take care of a problem for them. I guess you can add me to your list of broody protagonists. Or just anti-social ones. I could give you the heavy spiel about how my line of work doesn’t favor close friendships, but that’s only like, half the reason why I have about six contacts in my phone. You try seeing ghosts and demons and shit for your entire life and see what it does to _your_ personality.

I bypass the elevator in the grimy lobby of my apartment building and take the three flights of stairs instead, because the elevator hasn’t worked since long before I moved in. I unlock my door and shove with my shoulder when it sticks, tripping into my shoebox apartment with a sigh of relief, closing my door on the rest of the world. As I’ve been trying, for some reason, to nail home, my life is not glamorous. My apartment is a testament to that. If you need a visual for my bachelor's pad, think of the color brown and the fact that, as I learned from the few times I’ve had people over, I can hear someone in the bathroom taking a piss from my couch. Yeah. I drop my overcoat, keys and knife onto the kitchen table and open up my fridge, the inside light flickering slightly as I stare into it. Slim pickings. I push around the arrangement of leftover take-out boxes and find the Chinese food that I know is like, a day old tops, and pull it out, bumping the fridge shut with my hip. I find a plastic fork in my utensil drawer because all of my grown up utensils went missing after an incident with some spirits who like shiny things. Better to just let them have my damn silverware than go through the hassle of getting rid of them, I figure. They’re harmless, just hoarders. I eventually found the right ward to carve into my doorframe to make my apartment a no-go zone for them, but replacing what they took was on my long list of things to do.

I live alone. What do I really need a set of utensils for, anyhow?

I change into a pair of sweatpants, turn on my bedside lamp so I can kill the main light (singular) and climb into bed to pick through cold, leftover Chinese food and scroll through facebook, tumblr and reddit for a while. I go through an accumulation of SnapChat stories with a couple of snorts of amusement here and there, and then when I’ve eaten about all the day old take out I can stomach, which is more than I care to admit, I set everything aside on my dresser to be dealt with later and settle down to sleep. Before I can, though, I sit up and dig up a pen from my drawer and on the pad of post-it notes on my dresser I write out ‘ _Shiro_ ’. Then I flop onto my stomach with my blankets up to my ears and I’m out.

\--

At some point in the wee hours of the morning, my phone starts singing Trooper’s ‘ _Raise A Little Hell_ ” at deafening volume somewhere to my right. I slap a hand out along the top of my dresser until I find my phone and pull it back into my blanket nest. I squint at the bright screen to catch the caller ID and then answer, wedging it between my ear and my shoulder as I suppress a groan and get out of bed.

There’s hard, strained breathing coming down the other end of the line and then dry retching, followed by a cough. Oh boy. I move into the kitchen and start making coffee, waiting for Allura to pull herself together enough to say what she needs to. I hear the muffled passing of the phone from one set of hands to the other and then Coran’s nasally voice comes through in hushed concern.

“She needs a moment.” He tells me as I dump two spoonfuls of instant coffee into a mug that smelled clean at least.

“What’s going on? It’s like-” I pull my phone away to check the time. God. “Four in the morning.”

“Keith.” Allura breathes harshly into the phone and I’m bouncing on the spot a little as if that’ll make the kettle boil faster. My gut is already twisting- she sounds terrible, and if she’s calling me right after coming out of a dream then this has to be serious. Shitty hellhole. “Keith- you have to go _now_ \- he’s in danger. I’m sending you the address- _hurry_.”

Ah, fuck. No time for coffee. The line goes dead and I drop my phone on the counter and turn the light on so I can see what I’m doing as I hurriedly change into a pair of jeans and pull a sweater on. I shove my feet into my boots and my knife against the small of my back before shrugging on my overcoat and snagging my keys and phone. As I pound down the stairs I enter the address Allura sent me into Google maps. By some miracle, my truck is still outside of my building with all its wheels and I unlock it and pile inside, dumping my phone in the cup holder and praying that the engine starts on the first go. My lucky night.

It’s early enough that I can break the speed limit for a while without the risk of hitting anyone but I still stop and drum my fingers over my steering wheel at red lights, adrenaline and a low thrumming of anxiety making me fidget.

The address Allura gave me is an apartment building on the nicer side of downtown Garrison, which still isn’t exactly prime real estate. I park badly and jump out of the truck and then all the breath is knocked out of me.

This place is fucking _crawling_ with spirits. There are ghouls scratching up the brick exterior walls, crawling over the balconies. From the gutters I can hear the menacing whispers of kappas, their gross little hands slapping against the grates. From somewhere high up I can hear wings and I try not to think about what might be attached to them. I look back at the address in my phone. Third floor, apartment D. I jog towards the main door of the building and it swings open easily, which it shouldn’t, but no one is going to buzz me in at four in the morning anyway so I take what I can get and dash across the lobby and up the stairs. There’s a redcap lounging on the banister. I ignore it but it does make me uneasy. It’s picking at it’s teeth which doesn’t make me feel better. Hope no one around here had a pet cat.

The door to apartment D3 is slightly ajar and I press myself up against the wall and pop the catch on my knife’s sheath. “Hello?” I call lamely. The lights are all off and I nudge the door carefully open a little further.

Nope.

The apartment is definitely inhabited but not by anything human. I’m not stepping a foot in there. I press my back up against the wall again to try to think, staring up at the ceiling and then up at the staircase, and remember all the shit scrabbling to get up to the roof. I thunder up the stairs and ignore the burn in my legs. Three flights of stairs. The roof access door swings open and bangs loudly against the wall and ten feet in front of me, dressed in his pyjamas and the coat I saw him in earlier, Shiro nearly jumps out of his skin.

_I think I need your help_

He has a baseball bat in his hand, his grip ever shifting and I see the first, long white hand curl around the railing. He looks fucking terrified and I honestly can’t blame him. I’ve never seen _anything_ like this, the air is crackling with electricity and then as if on cue, I hear a loud pitch of static coming from my pocket and pause to dig my phone out. The back is incredibly hot and the screen is completely wigging out, flashing on and off, the image scrambling then settling and then scrambling again. I scowl at it and then the static turns into a loud high pitched shriek that makes my teeth hurt and my hair stand on end. I yank it away from me as far as I can without winging it, and yank the back off, taking it and the battery into my other hand and holding them as far apart as I can. The shriek turns into a tinny whine and then goes dead. I shove either halves into separate pockets and look over at Shiro. He’s staring at me, and then up at the sky at the sound of wings- _christ_ \- and his chest is heaving. That ghoul has made it over the ledge and I’m out of time. I grab Shiro by the hand and yank him forward hard, running back inside and pounding down the stairs. By the second landing Shiro’s the one leading me but I pull him to a halt on his floor. He whirls around to face me and I gesture with my chin over to his apartment.

“Two minutes. Grab whatever you need and then we’re getting the fuck out of here.” Shiro doesn’t ask me where we’re going, he just grits his teeth and nods. I follow after him, pulling my knife out as he reaches in to turn the light on and open the door further. He readjusts his grip on his bat and heads up the hallway while I hang back in the living space. It’s suspiciously empty, aside from Shiro’s furniture, which is all modern and chic looking. He even has books on his coffee table made specifically to be displayed on coffee tables. I take a step forward to be nosey when I hear a yelp from the bedroom and I quickly redirect and haul ass.

There’s a gaki on Shiro’s bed, eating his comforter, it’s huge eyes staring listlessly at Shiro where he’s crowded himself against his dresser. The sound of it chewing is loud and wet. I grimace and step into the room slowly, raising a placating hand up to the gross little skeletal creature, like it was dog or something. It’s fat belly is lumpy with fabric. “It’s okay. Pack. Now.”

Shiro snatches a gym bag off of the floor and starts grabbing a handful of stuff from each drawer and shoving it into the bag. I keep staring at the gaki which is yet to fucking blink and I really hope that it decides that it’s current snack is good enough. Gaki’s are gross little monsters created by damned souls who are forever hungry as a result of their sins during life. Something like that. They can be real fucking sensitive about all sorts so I keep speaking to a minimal so that it doesn’t start screaming. I hear Shiro zip the bag shut and I gesture for him to leave ahead of me. I close the door behind me and I watch as Shiro opens his bathroom door and then immediately shuts it. I don’t bother to check what it is that’s in there and instead I grab Shiro’s wrist and drag him out of that fucking apartment.

As I’m closing the door behind us, I see a flickering shadowy figure in the corner of the kitchen that turns my veins to ice. I can’t get out of there fast enough.

I speed for about four blocks and then pull over abruptly in a bus lane so I can drag my hands down my face and drop my head against the top of the steering wheel with a thunk. I stay there for about a minute before I hear Shiro shifting beside me, dropping his gym bag into the footwell. I spare him a sidelong glance. He’s looking around at the messy cab of my truck, picking at the duct tape that’s holding the interior of his door in place. The fake leather of the seat is brittle from years of sun exposure and worn away in some spots, exposing the yellow foam underneath. I sit up and reassemble my phone, turning it on and watching it with suspicion until my lock screen shows up, perfectly normal. Then I open up my contacts and hit the one at the top, shoving the phone between my ear and my shoulder so I can light a cigarette. I crank my window down a few inches. Allura picks up on the third ring and before she says anything, I go ahead.

“Hi, yeah, what the fuck.” Beside me, Shiro snorts a laugh that startles the hell out of me. I glance over at him and he looks a little sheepish, biting his smile. I give him a lopsided smile in return and some pressure lifts off my chest.

“How did it go?” Allura asks, patiently even though she’s clearly exhausted. I squint down at my phone and figure I better use actual words and explain some shit. Allura is an impressive psychic but she long since agreed to stay out of my head. I ash my cigarette into the cupholder in the center console.

“It could have been worse.” I admit, because really, neither of us are hurt and we didn’t even have to fight. We just had to fucking run. That wasn’t what had me rattled. “But I’ve never seen anything like that, Allura. The place was crawling with ghouls and shit- all for one person? What’s going on?”

“Is he with you?” She asks and I hear a rustle of fabric. She must be in bed. I’m jealous.

“Yeah.” I look over at Shiro again and he’s contemplating the closed convenience store across the street. He looks tired as well. It’s the universal feeling. His fingers tap out a nervous rhythm on the butt of his baseball bat between his knees. “His apartment is forfeit. No way in hell I’m going back there, and I’m sure as shit not leaving him there.”

“Keep him with you, Keith. Go and get some sleep, and then bring him around later. I have questions to ask him but for now, he’s safest with you.” She hangs up before I can say anything else and I toss my phone up onto the dashboard, the sound making Shiro jump and I turn in my seat towards him. Better get this over with.

“Listen,” I start without really know where I’m going. I drop my cigarette into the cupholder and let it burn out. “I’m really sorry I dismissed you earlier. I don’t usually accept jobs from people on the streets because it seems like a really good way to get dissected. If I had known…” I shake my head a little, biting my bottom lip.

“No, it’s okay.” Shiro says gently and he smiles weakly at me. I return his smile, just as meek, and a little more of that pressure lifts away. Okay. “I was so… Overwhelmed to see what I saw I couldn’t really think in a straight line and approach you like a human.” That gets a laugh out of me that I wasn’t expecting and I nod, turning back in my seat and rolling my window back up.

“I guess we’re both pretty lousy humans. You know you can’t go back to your apartment, right?”

“I figured.” Shiro sighs and the levity is gone again. The guy just got evicted by a whole lot of evil and I wish I could comfort him in some way, but I have no answers to offer him right now. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

I put the truck into drive and pull out of the bus lane, getting my bearings so I can navigate my way home. I had just kind of driven blindly to put distance between me and the haunted house of horrors. “You can stay with me. Allura wants to see you, but first I reckon we’ve earned some sleep.”

“Allura?”

Right, he hadn’t contacted her. Not in the traditional sense, at least. I rest my wrists over the steering wheel as we cruise back to my side of the neighbourhood. “She’s a psychic. She’s the one who let me know where to go to help you- my manager.” I say with a humourless laugh. “She’ll want to ask you questions about what’s been happening.”

“What do I tell her?”

“The truth. She only wants to help, so give as many honest answers as you can. But don’t worry about it right now- are you hungry?” I ask. There’s a McDonald’s around here somewhere and the last thing I had to eat was cold leftovers and although my all-fast food diet is probably causing my insides to rot, fresh fast food is probably better than day old. Shiro nods and I drive around for a while before turning into the drive-thru. We order breakfast and eat it in my truck parked outside of my building.

My apartment looks disgusting with Shiro standing in it. I am hyper-aware of the grime on the kitchen counters and the take-out box I left on my dresser, the overflowing laundry basket shoved in the corner near the sliding door to the bathroom. The ashtray on my coffee table is basically an abstract art piece made of cigarette butts at this point. Shiro’s face is carefully neutral as he stands in the middle of my tiny room. I drop his bag down by the door because I had insisted on carrying it up and try not to shrink in on myself as I strip off my coat and the sweater I had pulled on before bolting out of here an hour ago. I don’t have anything on underneath it but I’m more shy about my apartment than my body. “Take the bed, I’m on the couch.”

“No, I can’t--”

“Dude.” I raise my eyebrows at him, snatching up my discarded pyjama pants and jabbing a finger at the bed. “Not up for discussion. Go to bed.” Shiro _pouts_ and I wonder if I’m tired enough to hallucinate something that endearing. I smile despite myself and shuck off my jeans, pulling on my sweatpants and I dig around the dingy linen closet for a musty smelling, thick blanket I know is in there. By the time I settle myself on the couch with my phone charging on the kitchen bench, Shiro has climbed onto my bed and in the weak grey light coming through the window above me, I can see that he’s asleep, his face half crushed into my pillow. He must have been utterly exhausted. I am too, but I can’t help but nervously glance at the corners of the room. I don’t fall asleep until there’s enough sunlight coming in that I can clearly make out each corner of the room without any shadows.

I hear static in all of my dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are again. I just can't resist supernatural themes! I'm really nervous about this? But I'm excited too, and I hope I can achieve what I want.  
> These boys are in for a rough ride.  
> Comment, kudos, please let me know what you think!  
> :*


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [i have a tumblr](http://stickywrites.tumblr.com/)

I wake up to the sound of someone else moving around in my apartment and for a few seconds I’m trying to figure out how quickly I can get to the knife taped to the underside of my coffee table, and then I remember I have a guest and I’m left wide awake from the shot of adrenaline.

I huff a sigh and rub a hand down my face before I roll onto my side and look out across my apartment. Shiro is shuffling around in the kitchen, having made my bed and gotten dressed already, speaking quietly into his phone as he stirs at the contents of a mug.

“I’m sorry, it’s a family emergency.” He’s saying and I make myself sit up, stretching and combing my hair back from my face. There’s a cold chill coming off of the window behind me and I glance over my shoulder. It’s snowed at some point, the streets already plowed and the snow turning to sludge in the gutters. “I’m not sure when I’ll be back.” Shiro pauses and looks over to me, surprised to see me awake at first and then he gives me a small smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Maybe a week? I have some leave saved up…”

It hadn’t occurred to me that Shiro had a job and that I had interrupted it, but at least he knew well enough that he couldn’t go in for now. I was on babysitting duty and there’s probably policies about bringing smelly strays into the office. I toss my blanket over the arm of the couch and pad over to the kitchen, accepting the mug Shiro hands me. Black, instant coffee with a greasy film on the surface, still twirling from him stirring the contents. I take a deep gulp and sigh with satisfaction, mouthing a ‘thank you’ before I check my own phone. It’s a little after two and I haven’t missed anything. No texts or calls.

“Yes, thank you. Thank you.” Shiro says, before he puts his phone down and leans against the counter for a moment before he searches for the cupboard where the mugs are and sets about making his own coffee. I dig my cigarettes out from my coat pocket and light one with the lighter I tucked into the pack. Shiro glances up at the fire alarm above the stove and I chuckle.

“I don’t think that thing has worked in the last decade or so.”

“It’s not very safe.” He murmurs against the lip of his mug before taking a cautious sip of hot coffee. He makes a face and I nudge over the little porcelain bowl of sugar. He dumps _three_ spoonfuls in. Alright. I hum my acknowledgment to his safety concerns and stretch as far as I can to try and ash my smoke into the sink. I catch the edge. Close enough.

“I’m gonna shower, and then we’ll head over to Allura’s, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

A shower helps to clear my head of all the things rattling around in there after last night. I relax a little and stop trying to dig my fingers into the situation and force it to make sense and instead I let it go, let all of my thoughts about it just flow through me- because, truth be told, making sense of things isn’t in my job description. I’m the cavalry. There are other people who do the research and get the answers. I occasionally get a good hunch or something but my existing knowledge of lore regarding the things I face on the regular is more or less limited to how I can kill something and things I’ve figured out along the way. Shiro is something new. That’s okay.

I brush my teeth, comb my hair up into a ponytail and get dressed. I leave my knife behind and Shiro remembers to grab the keys.

We walk the few blocks it takes to get to Allura’s shop, a cute little white brick building with a black sign over the door with ‘WITCHERY’ printed in clean, white lines. The round display window next to the door advertises- in bright pink, buzzing neon- tarot card and palm readings, walk-ins are welcome! The pink light catches on all the angles of Shiro’s face as he stares at it with his brows drawn in. I laugh at him. “What?”

“I always thought that palm readers were crooks.” He admits after a moment.

“Most of them are.” I grin and shrug at him. The tip of his nose is pink from the cold. “Allura isn’t, but everyone has to make a living I guess. It’s all bullshit to me, whether the reading is legitimate or not.”

“What makes you say that?”

“If someone told you when you were going to die, what would you do?” I ask, leaning against the brick near the door. Shiro considers the neon sign for a moment, mouth twisted to one side slightly.

“I guess I would make sure I did everything I wanted to do before then.”

“And if you couldn’t manage it?” I ask, raising my eyebrows. He realizes what I’m getting at then and rolls his eyes good-naturedly.

“I would die trying. Which is how I should be living anyway, right?”

“Something like that.” I grin at him again and push away from the wall to grab the door handle. “Come on. Time to make your life even weirder than it already is.”

The bell above the door chimes and Coran appears suddenly over a display of candles he’d been setting out, his bushy ginger eyebrows raised high. It takes a second, and then he breaks into a grin and throws his arms up. “Keith! Wow, you look like you’ve actually slept!” He says, his voice nasally and sing-song like always. I roll my eyes at him but don’t resist it when he pulls me into a one-arm hug, tucking me up against his side.

“Yeah, I think it was like a solid five hours.” I say sarcastically, before gesturing over to Shiro still standing near the door. “This is Shiro, the guy from last night.”

“Hello,” Shiro gives a small wave, sliding his beanie off with his other hand to shove it back into his coat pocket. “I didn’t-”

“I’m Coran! I look after this one and Allura, good to meet you, Shiro. Shame about the circumstances.” He releases me from his grip to go over and shake Shiro’s hand firmly and enthusiastically and Shiro looks a touch overwhelmed, bless him. “Allura’s in the back, with some clients. She shouldn’t be much longer, so feel free to look around.” He looks sharply over his shoulder at me, and I try to feign a look of innocence. “These are work hours. I’m not taking the batteries out of the smoke detector.”

I pout and unzip my jacket, keeping my hands stuffed in my pockets as I wander towards the bookshelves at the back of the shop, my snow-damp boots squeaking on the glossy hardwood floor. Shiro’s hesitant steps follow and I look over my shoulder to watch him examine a display case of crystal pendants and tree of life necklaces.

Allura’s shop is a collection of mainstream mysticism with a few very real elements of the occult, for those who know how to spot them. The whole shop smells of sandalwood and there’s generally a lot of purple velvet. Shiro gingerly pulls a book of witchcraft down and thumbs through it. I wonder if he’s ever been even close to a shop like this. He strikes me as someone very clean cut, but really I don’t know much about him. I find the book on satanism I had started last time I visited and flick to the chapter I got up to, leaning my shoulder against the shelf. Coran hooks Shiro into a conversation at the front of the store and a quarter hour passes before two high school girls step out of the reading room, giggling between themselves and immediately heading to a display of charm bags to find the ones to do with love.

Once they’re purchased and the girls are gone, Allura comes out into the store in all her card-reading get up glory. Her curling silver hair is pulled up into a messy bun, her long skirt moving elegantly with each step she takes and her stacks of silver bracelets chime pleasantly as she raises her arms to pull me into a hug once I’ve snapped my book shut and hastily dropped it back onto the shelf.

Allura is ironclad proof of my homosexuality. When I had met her at sixteen, just as radiant as she is today, my hormones had kinda rolled over enough to check her out over their shoulder before going back to sleep. It worked out for the better in the end. I press my face into her shoulder and breathe in the mingled scent of lavender and coffee.

“You look like you got some sleep.” She smiles as we part and I give a huff of exasperation at the commentary on my sleeping habits. This isn’t anything new. It’s basically how they say hello to me. ‘Keith, you look dead’, is the most common. “Suddenly taking my advice, are you?”

“You woke me up at four in the morning, I figured I was entitled to a sleep-in.” I say dryly, before gesturing to the front of the store. “Go and save Shiro from Coran, I’m gonna make coffee.”

I let myself into the back room where Allura has really hammed it up with the fortune teller decor. I push back the curtain that separates the room from the little kitchenette back here and I turn on the electric kettle. I grab three mugs down and I now know all of our drink specifics so I can be an even more delightful host than usual. I’m setting the drinks down at the table when Allura bustles Shiro in, who looks a touch nervous but also the same shade of enamoured that Allura inspires in most men. He sits down beside where I’ve sprawled in a chair, knees wide and my mug held close to my chest. He crosses his legs and smiles a thanks at me for the coffee.

Allura drops her fortune teller persona like a hot rock, though she’s always a certain level of prim. She sips her milky coffee and sighs as she sets it down again.

“Alright. I need you start from the beginning, Shiro. When did this first start?”

Shiro rubs at the back of his neck and starts to explain. “It’s only been a few days. At first I just saw some of those- white things-”

“Ghouls,” I provide and he nods.

“Ghouls. They were around my building, but I thought I was just tired and stressed from work so I was seeing things, you know, how sometimes you think you catch movement out of the corner of your eye…” He trails off, probably remembering the company he’s in and having to swallow down the fact that he wasn’t seeing things at all. “Anyway. Then I saw Keith and finally had to admit to myself that I wasn't just imagining things.” Allura glances over to me, and I sit up a little. Oh, right. I hadn’t mentioned this.

“I took out a nest last night with that holy cloth I got from what’s-his-name,” Allura’s eyebrows twitch upward slightly at that, no doubt a question on her tongue, but she focusing back onto the discussion at hand, “and Shiro saw all of it. He asked for my help then and there, but. You know my policy.” I try not to feel guilty in hindsight.

“Right. And when I got home that night it was actually completely normal. I couldn’t see any ghouls around. I thought maybe Keith had taken care of them all, so I just went to bed like normal. I woke up around four to this sound of static. It was the only thing I could hear, and I just…” Shiro brings his hand up to chew on his fingernails, frowning like he’s concentrating hard to find the right words. Allura reaches over the round table and gently lays her hand over his to get his attention.

“If you’re comfortable with it, I can see for myself.” She says and Shiro looks up at her quickly, confused, and then Allura slowly lifts her hands up so that they’re hovering over either side of his head, forefingers near his temples. He understands and gives me a questioning look, but I stay carefully neutral- this has to be his decision. Consent to have someone else in your brain had to be a decision entirely on your own. Shiro swallows and lets out a breath.

“Okay.”

Allura smiles sweetly for him. “Now, it might feel a little strange. Like a pulling behind your eyes. But it won’t hurt.” She pauses and Shiro nods, closing his eyes as she gently lays her hands on him. I reach over and lay my hand on his on the table; it helps to have some sort of physical anchor. He curls his hand around the tips of my fingers lightly.

Honestly, from the outside the whole process looks like nothing. Allura simply closes her eyes, her eyelids flickering slightly, and Shiro does the same. They’re both silent. Shiro grimances. I drink my coffee quietly and rub my thumb over the back of Shiro’s hand.

Afterwards, Shiro goes back out into the shop to wait while Allura and I talk. She stretches as she stands up, collecting our empty mugs to take them over to the small sink in the kitchenette and I follow because I already know she’s going to make me dry while she washes. As the sink fills with warm water and soap she gives me a sidelong smile.

“So. He’s cute.”

“Allura.” I groan, running my hand down my face. “ _No_. No. Don’t even start.”

“I’m just saying! It seems like you’re going to be spending some time with him, when was the last time you-”

“Allura.” I warn her again, moving her aside so I can wash the scant dishes instead, just to do something with my hands. Allura’s interest in my love life is long suffering, mostly because I’ve never really had one. It’s hard to keep a boyfriend when you spend most of your time playing with dead things- it’s even harder when you can’t tell your boyfriend what it is you do for a living. So I had stopped trying pretty early on. Allura hadn’t. “The guy has been through enough already, don’t you think? As soon as I can get him back to his normal life, I’m going to. Then I’m out.”

“He seems to be perfectly well adjusted.” Allura sniffs and I glare at her. She rolls her eyes. “There was very little panic in his head, is all I’m saying. He was scared, but not hysterical like you might expect.”

“Did you see anything useful?” I ask as I run a sponge around the inside of a mug. “What are we dealing with?”

“There was something,” she admits, tilted her head to the side as she thought, bringing one hand up to the side of her head with her fingers curling slowly, like she were playing a piano. “Just out of the corner of his eye. Like he knew it was there, but he didn’t want to look. Something dark.”

I recall the shadow standing in his kitchen and the solid jolt of fear that had ran through me at the sight of it.

“But there was something else, too. You know how he said he heard static?” I nod and she licks her lips with a frown. “His head was full of it- don’t look at me like that, I wasn’t prying. He has a very loud mind. It was unavoidable.”

I’m not entirely convinced, but I drop it for now. “So what did you see?”

“Well, it’s more what I didn’t see. Before Garrison, there was almost _nothing_ but static.” She takes the mug I pass her and dries it slowly while she thinks. “He has memories, but they’re- surface details. No emotional attachments, just facts. Like someone put them there so he wouldn’t catch on to the fact that he appears to have only existed for about five years.”

“... What?” My hands stop moving and I stare at her, gape at her. My head’s spinning. “That would mean he’s missing, what, twenty-something years? Without knowing it?”

“It appears that way,” Allura lays a hand on my shoulder, pressing her thumb in above my clavicle. Grounding touch, I tilt my head to rest my cheek on her hand. “I’m going to talk to some people to try and find out what might have caused this. For now, Keith, he’s functioning fine, so don’t bring it up. Relax. He’s okay.”

I close my eyes briefly then straighten up. He’s okay. One thing at a time. I finish the dishes and turn around to lean back against the counter.

“I do have a job for you, if you need to take your mind off of things.” I grunt. Allura takes that as a yes. “There’s a spirit, possible poltergeist, wreaking havoc in an old house… In Arus.”  

“Arus- Allura, that’s like a two hour drive from here.”

“So it will be a little roadtrip. You and Shiro can bond.” She smiles at me brightly and I try to kill her with a look, which doesn’t work at all.

“It’s already two-thirty. It’ll be getting dark by the time I get there.”

“Keith, you work almost exclusively at night.”

I sigh and scratch at my hairline. “Do you have a flashlight I can borrow?”

Before we leave the shop, Allura gives me the rest of the details of the job on a scrap of receipt paper which I shove into my coat pocket before rescuing Shiro from a conversation with Coran that has him looking overwhelmed, his polite smile strained just a touch. Once we’re outside I light a cigarette despite the cold, standing still for a moment just to enjoy the nicotine hit. Shiro takes the time to sort himself out, adjusting his coat’s collar and pulling on his beanie again. I walk with my arms crossed over my chest to trap some heat, my head bowed against the faint breeze that’s started. I give Shiro a few side glances to make sure he’s doing alright- he looks pensive and not much else and unfortunately I don’t know him well enough to know if that’s good. We walk a couple blocks before I say anything.

“Have you ever been to Arus?”

“Arus- the tourist attraction? No, I haven’t. Am I about to?” I smile at him, wiggling my cigarette between my lips.

“I have a job out there. The caller says it’s a poltergeist.” I explain, flicking the butt of my smoke into the gutter before crossing the street onto my block. I dig into my pocket for my car keys and the scrap of paper Allura gave me, skimming over the details and scrunching my nose up in distaste. “All of the activity is based in the servants quarters of the Red Mansion, this big monstrosity on the edge of the town.”

“A poltergeist? Those are real?” Shiro asks in an amused way that I’m thankful for. I flash him another smile, a little toothier this time.

“Yeah. A damned spirit. All that ancient anger boiled up into a rage so strong they’re capable of fucking shit up on our plane.” I click the button on my keys that unlocks my truck, swinging open the driver’s side door. “Could be fun, but you’re welcome to stay in the car.”

“Are they dangerous? I mean, aside from the things they throw around? How do you get rid of them?” Shiro asks as he rounds the truck and climbs into the passenger seat, his baseball bat still in the footwell. The truck’s engine splutters and protests when I try and turn it over, and I quietly pray that today won’t be a day where it refuses to start. The cold doesn’t do it many favors. It starts on the third try.

“Well, they can be pretty pissy, but dangerous?” I consider it for a moment. I’ve gotten pretty good at dodging flying furniture. “No, not really. Usually, deep down, they’re just… Sad. They died violent deaths and something is preventing them from moving on. So I try and find out what it is and give it to them. After that they can pass quite peacefully.” I pull away from the curb and give myself a moment to figure out the quickest route to Arus and then reevaluate and figure out the route that has a McDonald’s along the way. I’m starving. Shiro must be as well.

“What happens if you can’t help them?” Shiro asks, looking over at me when I’m quiet for too long. He frowns a little, and then drops the question. We buy food and I realize I didn’t grab my pay for the ghoul job, thumbing through the last few ten dollar notes I have. At least I don’t need to buy gas for now. I eat my cheeseburger and drive us onto the highway. It’s quiet, but I can’t remember the last time my truck’s radio actually worked, so we just sit in it. Shiro picks the pickles out of his burger and drops them in the take-away bag, licking his fingers clean which I don’t watch from the corner of his eye.

I’m driving with my knee and smoking when Shiro speaks up, stirring around the ice at the bottom of his cup with his straw. “Are you religious?”

I blink over at him, ashing my cigarette in my empty cup. “No, not really- I believe in Hell, or at least that there’s something out there that bad things go in and out of. Maybe there’s a Heaven, too, but I haven’t seen any evidence of that. No evidence of God or the devil. Are you?”

“Not practicing. I like to think there’s _something_ out there.” Shiro snorts, “I guess I’ve seen proof of that now, but it’s not exactly what I had in mind. I guess I was hoping for God.”

I chew my lip for a moment and nod, reaching over to touch the back of his hand and then reconsider and lamely drop my hand onto the centre console. “Yeah, you’ve kind of been thrown into the deep end over the past few days. I’m sorry.” I say, sparing him a glance and a small smile, “but Allura was impressed with how well you’re handling it all. You’re not panicking.”

“I considered it.” Shiro laughs and he starts shoving all the food wrappers into the take out bag, just to be doing something. I guess we’re both a little fidgety in nature. “But seeing you get rid of those ghouls showed me that whatever’s after me can be stopped, you know? It’s not something immortal, all-powerful. And being with you seems like the best way for me to learn how to protect myself from it.”

Something about that makes my chest feel warm; Shiro, I realize, is pretty fucking amazing. Having no idea what’s going on, he wants to learn more so he can protect himself. He’s not asking me to protect him, not even expecting it. He just wants a teacher.

He’s brave.

What happened before he came to Garrison?

I turn onto the exit for Arus and before I can rethink it, I reach over to touch his hand. He turns his palm up for me and I weave my fingers with his, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before pulling away again. I don’t say anything but I figure I’ve made my point.

Arus is a small, old town just outside of Garrison. It’s been a ghost town for years now, converted into a shitty tourist attraction because it looks like it’s still stuck in the late 1800s. Nevermind that it’s a town that’s rotting away. Since it’s winter and nearly five o’clock, it’s even deader than usual with not even the street lights on as we roll down the main road, past the old, sagging wooden buildings with all the original painted signs still on them, faded and cracking. Shiro is sat up in his seat, peering out the window to see as much as possible in the low light. The sun is setting but the clouds are so dense that it might as well already be down.

“Why did everyone leave?” Shiro asks, and that is a very good question.

“I don’t know, actually. It’s just… Always been empty. Maybe Garrison cropping up wrecked the economy or something, I don’t know. Maybe everyone realized that this place blows.”

“You don’t like it here?”

I snort. “Fuck no. Place gives me the creeps, has since I was a kid. Almost every year, there would be a field trip out here and I would come across something I didn’t want to see.”

“You’ve been able to see things since you were a kid?” Shiro asks, looking over at me with a faint furrow in his brow, his lips downturned. I know that look well enough.

“I’m a seer. I was born this way.” I explain matter-of-factly as I turn off at a sign that has ‘RED MANSION, 5 MINUTES’ painted on it in peeling white. “No one knows why some people get the ability and why the majority doesn’t, just lucky I guess.”

“Is there… Can someone get the ability? Or do you have to be born with it?”

“Yeah. You can obtain it, but why you would want to, I don’t know.” Shiro hums to himself at that, sitting back and gazing out the window again. The scenery is even more dull now, just creepy, bare trees as we drive towards the gates of Red Mansion, a big sprawling building in an Edwardian style that’s been for the most part, left to decay. The entire left wing is sunk in on itself, the roof having fell through the storeys, leaving a big gaping hole for the elements to invade the remaining structure. The gardens are massively overgrown, but I like them for it. The gardens are about the only part of this whole place I like. I leave the truck idling at the mansion’s gate, leaning over Shiro to open the glovebox and rummage around for my little lock picking kit before hopping out. The padlock is easy enough to pop open since I’ve had years of practice, and the rusty gate shrieks its protest as I push it open with a grunt of effort. Shiro gives me a look as I climb back in the truck and hand him the kit, which he puts back.

“Where did you learn to do that?”

I shrug. “The internet.” And then I drive forward, the gravel driveway crunching under the truck’s wheels. I park right outside of the front door and grab the flashlight Allura lent me, testing it even though it seems a little bit late to be making sure it works- which it does, thankfully- and then I get out of the truck and Shiro follows.

“We’re not going to pick the lock?” He asks quietly, following me up the steps. I look over my shoulder at him and then reach forward, the old door swinging open rather easily.

“They gave up replacing the lock when I was still a teenager. People break in all the time.”

“Oh.” He says, and follows me inside. You can sort of see how this building _used_ to be magnificent, even after it having been slowly stripped down over the years its been abandoned. In the foyer, two wide stair cases wind up to the second floor, where a huge window is situated to be perfectly centred between them. Most of the glass is knocked out of it now and what’s left is caked in dust and mess so that no light can make it through. On the bottom floor between the staircases is a set of wide double doors and a similar pair to the right. Shiro is very close beside me, following the sweep of my flashlight. “Which way do we go?” He says, right against my ear.

“The kitchens.” I say, digging up the bit of paper again to check the details. Poltergeist, basement level. Servant quarters/kitchen. All written in Allura’s pretty looping handwriting.

“They’re downstairs.” I say with a great level of distaste before I start towards the doors to the right. Shiro holds onto the back of my coat loosely, and I don’t mind it. The floor’s uneven from broken bits of the left wing scattered all over the place.

All of the rooms are basically empty and the pieces of furniture left behind are more modern than the mansion; not the original contents. I walk slowly and carefully, sweeping the flashlight from corner to corner of each room just to make sure we’re alone, just me, Shiro and our ghost, not any dumb kids who broke in on a dare or to fool around. The flashlight falls over graffiti on almost every wall. Someone played a couple rounds of naughts and crosses in the dining hall with green and pink spray paint.

The stairs down into the kitchen are made of stone and are quite narrow, and I pity the wait staff who had to bring platters of food up them. Notably, it’s very very quiet.

“Hey, Keith?” Shiro breathes against my ear again and I jump slightly. “Sorry. I was just thinking- who called this in, if this place is abandoned?” I blink a few times, glancing over my shoulder at Shiro who’s close enough for me to actually make out his features in the dark.

“I… Didn’t think to ask.” I reply quietly. I suddenly wish I had gone back up to my apartment and grabbed my knife before coming. “Maybe there’s a security guard or something.” I say lamely, already knowing from the state of this place that there’s no one looking out for it. I look back down the stairs, shifting my grip on the flashlight and licking my lips. “Alright. Let’s go on an adventure.”

As soon as we reach the bottom of the stairs, there’s a loud crash from somewhere in the dark- in another room, but close. Shiro brings his phone out of his pocket and taps at the screen a few times before its flashlight comes on and throws a little more light on our surroundings. It’s a mostly empty room aside from the built in counters and cupboards with their doors either missing entirely or hanging off of their hinges. The walls are brick as well as the floor, covered in grime and a little mud. The rain probably gets in when it comes down hard enough.

“Keep close.” I tell Shiro before moving forward cautiously and there’s another loud crash and a crack coming from behind a heavy wooden door at the back of the first room. I glance around quickly, but there’s nothing I can use as a shield from whatever’s being tossed around in there. I sigh and turn the doorknob slowly, reaching back to catch the front of Shiro’s coat and pull him in closer to me as I crack the door open a couple of inches.

From inside the room there’s a soft, whimpering sob and the sound of something dragging across the floor. I feel Shiro tense behind me and I shake my head.

“There’s no one in there. No one alive.” I soothe him, pushing the door open further and shining the light in. This room is more furnished, counters and cupboards built in and in the centre of the room is a heavy, old butcher’s block. There’s sawdust on the floor and a thin woman dressed as a maid, pacing slowly behind the butcher’s block, her hands over her face. Shiro’s breath hitches at the sight of her because she looks very, very _wrong_ although not in a way you can immediately put your finger on, except for her old fashioned clothes. She’s not as old as the mansion, but she definitely doesn’t belong here, now. She hasn’t noticed us yet, but she will. I look back at Shiro, putting a finger up to my lips. He nods his understanding and we creep into the room, keeping low. I find a door to a cupboard on the floor and pick it up by its handle just in time for the woman to appear right in front of me, her face pale and streaked with make-up from crying. Her eyes are bright green in the torch light, her lips blurred with smeared red lipstick. Messy brown hair falls around her face.

“GIVE IT BACK!” Her voice cracks impossibly loud and she disappears, her voice still ringing somewhere between my ears. I shake my head and look back at Shiro, making sure he’s okay. He’s looking a little pale. I can hear the sound of the woman pace again, the click of her heels muffled by the sawdust on the floor. There’s no good place to hide so I stay where I am, close to the door. Shiro’s hand slides across my back.

“I want to help you,” I call to the spirit, swinging my flashlight around the room to look out for things she might try and throw at my head. “There’s something you need, can you tell me what it is?” The spirit gives a loud wail and the cupboard door in my hand gets ripped away and splits against the wall across from me. I flinch slightly and lick my lips.

“Will she really tell you?” Shiro murmurs over my shoulder.

“In one form or another.” I murmur back and reluctantly move further into the room along the wall. I clear my throat and try again with the spirit,my free hand groping along the floor for a new shield. “Is what you want in this room?”

The spirit sobs rather than wails, which is an improvement I guess. Nothing moves in the room which also seems like an improvement. Alright. “Can you show me where it is?”

She sobs again and starts crying and I watch in fascination as the sawdust slowly starts raising off of the floor. I hear Shiro let out a quiet breath, reaching out a tentative hand into the sawdust in the air. I don’t have time to warn him before it seems to all get whipped up in a sharp wind and those little bits of wood chips turn into needles in the air and he pulls his hand back fast and curls his arms over his head to protect himself. I yank my hoodie up. “Okay, okay! Sorry, sorry!” I call out and the wind eases up a little bit. Jesus. She’s fussy. Fussier than most. I let out a sigh, shoving my hair back from my face. “Shiro, you okay?”

“Yeah. Uh,” he turns his phone’s light over his hand where a few flecks of blood have risen to the surface but it’s not too dramatic. My flashlight flickers slightly and I curse- _please_ don’t be dying. “She seems really sensitive.” Shiro says, his voice lowered so only I can hear him.

“Yeah.” I scoff, “we might have to just search the room for what she wants. She won’t show me.”

Shiro bites his lip lightly in thought before nodding and he straightens up out of a crouch, facing his phone’s light down towards the floor rather than ahead of him. I hiss his name and reach for him, but he steps away from me, towards the centre of the room. I lift my flashlight towards the butcher’s block, the spirit still pacing behind it, wiping her mascara over her pale cheeks. Shiro walks slowly but confidently, not hunched in on himself as he reaches the butcher’s block, resting a hand on the edge to guide him around.

“Ma’am?” The spirit hisses in a breath and Shiro tries again. “Sorry, miss?” She stops pacing for a moment, wiping under her eyes, sniffling pitifully. “You seem very upset, is there anything I can do for you?”

I watch, my jaw tense, but Shiro’s gentlemanly approach seems to be appealing to the fussy spirit. I wonder how much of it has to do with his tone and how much of it has to do with Shiro himself. He has a hell of a lot more charm than I do. The spirit lets her hands fall limply away from her face, her chin wobbling as she holds back more tears. Shiro smiles at her gently and reaches a hand to her, palm up. She considers it for a moment, then lays her hand on his.

“Why don’t you show us where the thing you’re missing is? We can give it back to you, and maybe you can go somewhere nicer than here.”

Her breath hitches softly in her throat, and then her entire form shudders and vanishes out from in front of him, particles of her energy floating in the air like dust. I swing my flashlight around, trying to find her, and she’s standing in the far corner of the room in front of an old pantry, hugging herself and crying softly. Shiro glances over at me, his face lit from underneath and then he walks over to her and I follow, apparently just a spectator at this point. Shiro carefully steps around her although he’s probably now aware that he’s capable of stepping right through her slim body because it’s not really _here_. He opens the pantry door slowly, giving her time to get out of the way of it and he shines his phone light into it. I crane my neck trying to look in, but I can’t see over his shoulder without getting closer and something tells me she wouldn’t like that. She’s standing very close to Shiro. He reaches into the pantry and the spirit breathes in deeply as he produces a small, round tin.

“Is this it?” He asks her and she just keeps smearing her make up around, staring listlessly at him. He frowns for a moment and then puts the corner of his phone in his mouth so he can see what he’s doing as he carefully twists the lid of the tin off. He reaches in, picking up the contents and letting the tin fall to the floor with a dull clang. Dangling from his fingers is a small, oval locket, silver and simple. Pretty. The spirit sighs softly and brings her hands up, cupping her palms in front of her. Shiro takes his phone out of his mouth and looks from her face to her hands, then lowers the locket into them. It doesn’t fall through like he’s clearly expecting and she closes her hands over it with one final little sniff. She leans forward and presses a kiss to Shiro’s lips which makes his eyebrows shoot upwards. The spirit shudders, as in her existence, her entire appearance flickering and then fading away without ceremony. Shiro blinks at the space she used to be, glancing around the room.

“She’s gone. She’s passed over.” I tell him, wandering over to his side to clap him on the shoulder. “That was pretty impressive, man.”

Shiro scratches the side of his nose and shrugs. “I had no idea if it would work. Worth a try.”

“You just got macked on by a dead girl.” I laugh, nudging him in the ribs playfully. “How was it? On a scale to ten?”

“Cold.” Shiro laughs as well, batting me away. “Really cold. I’d give her a four.”

“A four is still pretty high for a dead girl.” I snort, starting back across the room because I’m pretty fucking keen to get out of here whether there’s a ghost or not.

“She was pretty.”

“I guess she was.” I hum, waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. “Your type, then?” I ask, wheedling for information a little bit and when I catch myself doing it I kinda wanna kick myself. Allura is getting into my head. I’m low-key trying to find out if he’s into guys when I really don’t want to know.

“Not exactly.” Shiro responds, going up the stairs ahead of me. I divert my gaze for a moment and start to follow, only to pause and reach into my pocket for my phone when I hear the soft whine of static, like I had at Shiro’s apartment. The screen is flickering. I smack it against my palm a few times and it goes back to normal, the static fading out. _Weird_.

We make it out of the mansion without further incident but as I’m unlocking the truck and opening my door, we both hear it. To the left of us there’s a faint growl, snuffling, a clicking of claws. Shiro looks at me over the roof of the truck and I nod. We walk together towards the noise cautiously though I’m honestly just expecting some sort of animal, maybe a stray dog or something. Better to check I guess, might be a problem I have to come back to fix.

I stop dead in my tracks and throw my arm out over Shiro’s chest.

Picking through the ruins of the left wing is a large black dog with something molten and red under its fur, catching in the light of my torch. Its no breed anyone would recognize, because it's not a dog anyone can or would want to own. Its eyes flash red in the flashlight and I stumble backwards, bringing Shiro with me.

“What is it?” Shiro asks me, catching onto my panic as I keep walking backwards without turning away from the animal, though it hasn’t noticed us it seems. I swallow hard.

“It’s a hell hound.”

I hustle us back to the truck and get the fuck out of there, not bothering to close the gate behind me or anything. Fuck this place. I haven’t explained my panic to Shiro though he seems to understand pretty damn well anyway. I cheerfully break the speed limit until we hit the highway.

“Was that really a hell hound?” Shiro finally asks, slumped down in his seat and staring at his hands, his eyebrows raised.

“Yeah.” I answer shortly. “I don’t know what the fuck it was doing out there- in Garrison, maybe, but Arus? No clue. There’s no rift out there. Ghosts are about all you’ll get and I think I’ve taken care of them all, more or less.” I’m speaking fast and scraping one hand through my hair and Shiro is watching me with concern in his eyes so I take a deep, slow breath.

“Keith?”

“What do you know about hell hounds?” I ask, trying to calm down. I light a cigarette and the nicotine helps a little.

“I mean… Nothing, really, aside from Cerberus.” He admits and he’s still looking at me, his hand stretched over the centre console. I glance down at it, but don’t take it, ashing my cigarette in my empty McDonald’s cup instead.

“There’s a lot of different lore about them. They’re bad omens. Bringers of death, all sorts.” I explain, my voice evening out finally. I roll my shoulders and focus on the road a little more. “They say if you see one three times you’re going to die. They’re pretty vicious, too, if they decide they want to attack.”

“What are you afraid of, Keith?” Shiro asks, cutting through the noise. I glance over at him and resist the urge to brain myself on my steering wheel. I take a deep drag on my smoke instead.

“I’ve seen two now.”

When Shiro takes my hand, I let him. He weaves our fingers together on the centre console and we drive like that for a while in silence, his thumb stroking my skin. It calms me down which is a fact that I decide not to fight. Fifteen minutes of staring at the back of a minivan is about all I can take of the silence.

“Hey, Shiro?” He makes a little noise to show he’s listening. “What do you do for a living? You were calling out of work this morning, right?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m a junior research analyst.” He says, looking over at me after shaking himself out of thought. “For a marketing company in the city.” I scrunch my nose up a little, glancing over at him from the corner of my eye.

“The fuck is a research analyst?”

“Uh.” Shiro scratches at his jawline, his other hand still holding onto mine like its just been forgotten about. “Well, it varies from place to place. We gather information from the marketplace and apply it to our client’s campaigns so that they appeal to the right demographics. Or something. Like I said, I’m only a junior research analyst. I’m basically a gopher.”

“Sounds lame.” I say but I give him a smile and indulge myself, stroking my thumb over his lightly. Shiro laughs a little and nods.

“It’s boring compared to what you do, sure. But it pays pretty well.”

“Did you have to study for it?” I ask, just to keep him talking. It’s about time I learn more about him and there’s something soothing about his voice on top of his touch. I’m still feeling sprigs of panic from what I saw in Arus.

“Mhm, yeah. I studied marketing.”

“Where’d you study?”

“I did my first three years in New York and then I transferred to GU.” Shiro says, his grip on my hand shifting a little but not pulling away. I throw him a frown.

“You moved to Garrison from _New York?_ Why would you do that, this place is a shithole.”

Shiro shrugs a little, “I don’t know. I guess I wanted a change of scenery. I grew up in New York.”

I think back to what Allura said about his memories. Just surface memories, no emotional depth to them. I bite my lip lightly, letting out a slow breath before I ask my next question. “I’ve never been to New York before, what’s it like?”

“It’s okay, I guess. Busy all the time, like everyone always has somewhere to be. Garrison's quieter.”

“Do you ever go back? To see your family?” I pry a little further, steering with my knee as I light a cigarette single-handedly, still not entirely willing to let go of Shiro’s hand. I can feel his pulse in his wrist, steady and strong. He’s quiet for a while, staring out his window at all the great big nothing there is to see from the highway.

“I don’t really have any family to go back and see.” He replies softly, “my parents died when I was in high school so I was raised by my aunt, but we didn’t really get along.”

So no family back in New York. No reason to leave Garrison. No real memories of before Garrison, just trite details. Driving and smoking one-handed gets a little tricky so I finally free my hand from his so I can ash my cigarette into the McDonald’s cup and not drive us off the road. “I’m sorry about your parents, I lost mine when I was young, too.”

“Mm. How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-five. It's been about twenty years since they died, give or take.”

“I’m sorry.” Shiro says and I wave him off. It’s alright; I’m over it, as much as one can be. They’re a fond, fuzzy memory among all the rest. “I’m a year older than you.”

“Geez, I didn’t realize I was driving around with an old man.” I snort, trying to pick up the mood again. Shiro laughs and doesn’t argue with me. We both absolutely jump out of our skin when my phone suddenly rings. I curse and shove my cigarette between my lips and dig my phone up out of the ass pocket of my jeans. Shiro raises his eyebrows at me.

“Really?” He asks, referring to my ringtone. I roll my eyes and slide to answer Allura’s call.

“What?”

“How did it go?” Allura asks cheerily, sounding like she’s asking about a date and- well. Allura’s not an expert on romance so as far as she’s considered, sending me and Shiro out after a pissy spirit is as good as it gets.

“Fine, neither of us got brained by flying furniture. Shiro has a bit of a knack for this it turns out, or at least a knack for charming dead girls.” I grin over at him and he splutters indignantly. I stick my tongue out at him.

“What on earth do you mean?” Allura asks and I can hear the disappointment. I laugh under my breath. Serves her right. I don’t mention the comment he made after the fact.

“He’s the one who got her to calm down enough to show us what she wanted back. She kissed him before she left, to say thanks. Can’t say I’ve ever managed that myself.” Allura gives a considerate hum.

“Probably because you always smell and look like a hobo.”

“Shut the fuck up, I bathe.” I growl with no real heat. “Why did you call?”

“We’re having dinner with Hunk and Lance tomorrow. I can’t have you feeding Shiro nothing but junk food for the foreseeable future. Dinner’s at seven, Hunk is bringing desert and if I really have to coerce you, you didn’t pick up your pay for the ghoul job.” I try not to openly grouse. Allura knows me far too well and it often forces me into _socializing_ , because she knows exactly how to twist my arm.

“Fine. I’ll see you then.” I huff, and she says goodnight and hangs up on me. Shiro is looking at me, his head tilted slightly in question. I drop my phone into my lap and scratch at my hairline. “We’re having dinner with Allura and some friends tomorrow night.” He blinks but nods. “My friends uh, they don’t know what I do for a living, so don’t bring it up.”

“What do I say if they ask me how we met?” Shiro frowns and it seems a little sad. Man, tell me about it. I sigh heavily and tighten my grip on the steering wheel.

“They won’t ask.”

“Why-”

“They just won’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keith's obnoxious ringtone: [(x)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=roqoA08QdbA)
> 
>  this chapter is so long what the f uck  
> I hope y'all enjoy it though! Kudos, comment, all that jazz ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning for body horror/gore in this chapter
> 
> y'all should see my search history l m a o

 It’s been a long time since someone new came into my life and actually stayed. And really, I suspect it will be a long time still, given that Shiro is not a willing participant, but for now he’s leaning into his situation as best he can. I’m the person who scooped him up out of a bad situation and nothing makes you feel close to someone quite like being rescued by them. It doesn’t matter if you know nothing about them aside from what’s so far been presented to you. It’s an instinct. Bond with the one who can protect you, stay at their side and you won’t get hurt.

I wish that were true for Shiro.

I had allowed him to get too close too soon and I had allowed myself to indulge in it.

Shiro holding my hand on the drive back from Arus had cut through my rising panic after I had faced a bad omen that had been another strike through my life expectancy. Him holding my hand had been like a parent picking up their child after a bad fall; physical contact soothing the mind. I hadn’t even questioned it. I had just allowed him to be an anchor.

The term ‘touch starved’ comes to mind from the mouth of someone I can’t remember the name of.

When Shiro wakes up sometime around mid-morning, I’m sitting on the couch with my back against the arm, smoking the last cigarette in my pack slowly, enjoying each pull. He sits up in the bed with wicked bedhead and eyes not entirely open yet. He stretches and rubs at his face and at his hair before he notices me on the couch, quietly watching him.

“Did you get any sleep?” He asks as he reaches for a hoodie he left on the foot of the bed, pulling it on as an extra layer against the cold. The heating in my apartment sucks. I take one last drag on my cigarette before grinding the butt out in the crowded ashtray.

“I got a little.” I sniff, pulling my blanket tighter around me as Shiro gets up and sits on the other end of the couch, looking me over with a touch of concern that I try not to squirm under. Given that I’ve been chasing thoughts around my head about how Shiro’s company affects me all night, I can’t help but come off a little cold. He confuses me, and I don’t like to be confused. My life has a certain level of consistency that I like, and whenever something new comes along all I usually have to learn is how to kill it. Shiro is a new and complex problem that distracts me from solving it whenever he speaks.

Shiro isn’t looking at me anymore. He gets up and makes us both coffee, setting mine down in front of me and easing himself back down the couch.

“I think I need to be a little more honest with you.” He says cautiously without meeting my eye and he has my attention. I sit up and reach for my mug, my eyebrows twitching upwards.

“I don’t know enough about you for you to have lied.” I say carefully over the rim of my mug, narrowing my eyes on him. He looks downright guilty as he tucks one leg under himself and sips his coffee.

“I lied about how long this has been going on- the ghouls, the… hauntings, I guess you could call them.” He looks at me from the corner of his eye, breathing in slowly. “I’ve been seeing things for a long time.”

“How long?” I ask, with a sneaking suspicious that I already know the answer. Allura’s voice speaks from the far side of my mind:

_he appears to have only existed for about five years_

“Since I moved to Garrison five years ago.” My stomach churns over slowly but I don’t say anything. I let him explain instead as he turns his mug in his hands, his head bowed. “I don’t know why I didn’t tell you, maybe I was still trying to pretend that it wasn’t true. The first few times I saw something, I just ignored it. Trick of the mind- I was stressed from school.” He licks his lips, “when I graduated and got a good job and I kept seeing them…”

“You couldn't ignore them anymore? Tried to pretend but that didn't work, but you at least stopped trying to make other people see them, too.” I smile faintly because I understand; I had done that for years as well, when it became unacceptable for me to have imaginary friends and my foster families started putting me in therapy for night terrors. By the time I was in high school I had repressed it all so much that it had turned into a kernel of white hot rage that I was taking out on the people around me. I got kicked out of school, and that’s when Allura found me. Someone who believed me. Someone who gave me an outlet for all my anger. Well, someone who tried, at least. “Why didn’t you try and find someone to help you sooner?”

“Because they only just started noticing me back.” Shiro says with a small shrug. “I always saw them but they didn’t seem to see me. When they started appearing around my apartment, in my apartment, you're right- I couldn’t ignore it anymore. I felt their malice starting to turn towards me.”

“They’ve never bothered you before? Not at all?”

“No. Not once.” Shiro looks over at me, frowning. I hum to myself, tapping out a rhythm against the mug in my hands. For as long as I can remember, the things I’ve seen have seen me back and they haven’t often liked the attention. At the very least, they would try to scare me. At the worst they attacked me. I think of the spirit in the Red Mansion yesterday and the way she had soothed so easily with Shiro’s voice and touch. I think about how he had done the same for me- how he’s _still_ doing it for me.

I wonder if he’s some sort of psychic. An empath, maybe- unaware of what he can do, but by nature he utilizes it.

“Shiro,” I say slowly, lifting myself up out of my thoughts, “what happened to you five years ago?” He tries to feign confusion, but I shake my head. “Allura couldn’t see anything past the time when you moved to Garrison. You know something’s wrong. What happened?”

Shiro puts his coffee down, scrubbing his hands through his hair. “I don’t know.” He says softly, something desperate straining his voice. “I’ve tried to remember, but I don’t know. It’s like a dream- I have these sort of vague impressions of my life in New York, but nothing solid. Not even my parents- when I think about them and their deaths, I don’t really feel anything for them.”

I want to move over to him and find a way to comfort him, but I have no talent for that sort of thing, so I stay where I am, biting my lip. The silence stretches on for probably too long, and Shiro’s shoulders raise as he breathes in deeply and drops his hands away from where they’re cradling his head. He picks his coffee up and drinks it like the conversation hadn’t happened and he’s just trying to wake up. I reach for my cigarette pack before grousing and realizing it’s empty.

“Hey, uh, I need to go out and grab some things. You can stay here if you want.” I say as I stand up, blanket and all. “You’ve been on the go since you got here. Maybe take a shower, there’s probably bread if you want to make something for breakfast.”

Shiro looks up at me with his lips pursed, slightly tense. “Will I be safe here alone…?”

“This place is thoroughly protected, there are charms and wards and traps all over the place.” I laugh, mostly breath, and shrug. “And failing that, there’s a knife taped to the bottom of the coffee table and a gun in the bottom of the linen closet.” Shiro blanches at my casual tone and I laugh for real this time. My mood goes on an upward swing. “I’m walking, too, so if you need to get outta here, take my truck. But I’m pretty certain you’ll be safe.”

Shiro is appeased by the many, many fail-safes my apartment is full of and agrees that staying in is something that he needs right now. I get dressed and holster my hunting knife to the small of my back, hiding it under my shirt, before pulling on my coat and scarf. I leave Shiro wrapped up in my blanket, picking a book off of my shelf and just to make myself feel more secure about leaving him, I draw a ward above the lock on my door.

My landlord, if he ever bothered to do inspections, would probably evict me on the spot for what I’ve done to my doorway. All the way around it are wards designed to keep out every single evil you can imagine, carved right into the wood with a tip of a pocket knife. Allura had helped me do it about a week after I had moved in and my apartment had become infested with something that liked to eat all the electrical wiring. People like me tend to attract the supernatural, like a big bright beacon that tells them they’ll get a kick out of fucking with me. Unfortunately for them, I get a kick out of fucking with them, too.

My first stop is the seven-eleven on the corner of my block for a fresh pack of cigarettes. The girl behind the counter knows me well enough that she’s already got the pack on the counter by the time I reach her. We manage a little bit of small talk before I leave and try to remember where the nearest grocery store is. I have like, forty bucks left but that should be enough for now. Gotta make sure I grab my pay from Coran tonight, the truck needs to be filled up.

The nearest grocery store is still a decent walk away, but I don’t mind too much. The brisk wind helps clear my head and it’s never a bad thing to scope my neighbourhood out for anything out of place. I think, for the most part, things have learned to stay the fuck away. I’m the Big Bad Wolf and rather than blow their house down, I made myself comfortable in it.

The Big Bad Wolf will probably never feel comfortable in a grocery store, though. I grab one of those little plastic baskets as I enter the building, squinting slightly under the bright fluorescent lights.

God, what day is it? Friday? This place is busy.

I wander through the aisles a bit like a lost boy, grabbing some basics like toilet paper, bread, milk and butter but drawing a blank on what I can get to feed Shiro for the foreseeable future. I can’t exactly cook and I didn’t ask if he could. I end up getting an armful of those microwavable meals that claim to taste homemade, which seems doubtful. I also grab two packs of instant coffee, the strongest brew they have. I genuinely can’t think of anything else we might need and I try not to feel bad about what a poor adult I am when the clerk gives me a look that’s not as subtle as he thinks. I look like shit, probably sporting impressive bags under my eyes, reeking of menthol cigarettes with hair that’s only been finger-combed and an old coat that smells vaguely of all the gross things my line of work throws into my path. I stare at him until he gets unnerved and focuses hard on packing my groceries into plastic bags. I snatch my receipt from his fingers and grab my bags, tearing the plastic off of my pack of cigarettes before I’m even out the door but I don’t light one until I’m on the sidewalk. There’s a fluttering in my chest that one might call anxiety which I stamp out with nicotine.

By the time I get home only an hour or so has passed but Shiro is asleep on the couch, the book he had picked out open in his lap, his hand laying over the pages he’d gotten up to. Not very far in. I close the door quietly behind me, setting the plastic bags down on the counter along with my jacket, scarf, knife. It’s an ingrained process at this point.

No matter how quietly I unpack my scant groceries, Shiro wakes up, padding over to where the carpet turns to tile to watch me with a groggy look as I try to fit all of the frozen meal boxes into my tiny freezer. He laughs quietly and I give a petulant little frown over the top of the freezer door.

“Can I help?” He asks, leaning his hip against the counter, his arms folded over his broad chest. I take a moment to look at him standing in my kitchen in his Garrison University hoodie and plaid pyjama bottoms, still a little flushed from sleep. Allura was right of course. He is cute. I stare too long and Shiro raises an eyebrow at me.

“Make coffee.” I say a little gruffly, shoving the last box into the freezer and getting up off the floor. I haven’t eaten all morning so I figure I should do that, opening the bread I bought to put two slices in my toaster that’s now old enough to qualify as an antique. We share the small kitchen space for a moment while he makes us coffee- turns out he likes his with milk when milk is available- and I butter my toast once it pops and search my cupboards for a plate. He carries my coffee for me over to the coffee table and we sit on the couch together. He picks up his book again and I bite into buttery goodness, chasing it down with a strong caffeine hit.

“Did you get everything done?” Shiro asks as he tucks his legs under himself and sips his coffee. His comfort in my apartment is as nice as it had been yesterday. I’m glad he’s not one of those people who’s too shy to ask for a cup of water even though they’re dying of thirst.

“Yeah, it was just a supply run, really.” I say around a mouthful of toast, “checked to make sure nothing was lurking around- with the rift acting up, sometimes things come into my neighbourhood, but not very often.”

“Even with me around?” Shiro asks slowly, looking down at the book in his lap.

“Even with you around.” I reply with a smile, stretching my leg out to nudge him so he looks up. He smiles back a little and returns to his book. I let him, digging my phone out of my pocket to browse through my usual social media haunts. We pass a good chunk of time like this, sitting together, quietly doing our own thing. I’m scrolling through creepypastas on reddit, trying to find one I haven’t seen before or at least in a while, when Shiro looks over at me.

“Hey, Keith?” I hum to let him know I’m listening. “I never asked you what your last name was.”

I look over at him at that, frowning faintly- that’s very true. We were on a first name basis after skipping all the others. I click my tongue. “Kogane. What’s yours?”

“Shirogane. My first name is Takashi.” He clarifies when I look confused. He gives me a little shrug and a smile. “I just prefer Shiro.”

I snort, putting my phone down to extend my hand to him. He takes it with a grin, shaking my hand firmly. “Nice to meet you, Takashi Shirogane.”

“And you, Keith Kogane.” He keeps my hand hostage for a moment, turning to face me a little more. “How did you get into your line of work? With Allura and Coran, I mean?” He lets me retract my hand back into my lap. I lick my lips, getting up quickly to grab my smokes, returning to my spot on the couch with one lit.

“Well,” I start as Shiro slides the ashtray down to my end of the coffee table. “When I was sixteen I guess you could say I was a problem child. Anger issues, a heap of repressed feelings about seeing dead things all the time and not being able to talk about it to anyone. I dropped out of high school,” I lie and I’m not entirely sure why. I just don’t want Shiro to know I got thrown out on my ass after breaking a kid’s nose with my knee. Maybe that’s a reasonable thing to lie about. “And Allura found me, asked me if I wanted an outlet. Asked if I wanted to help people who couldn’t see what I could, but were being hurt by them anyway. I said yes. The rest is history.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

“I-” I scratch at my hairline, resting my head against the back of the couch to consider the ceiling. “Sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t. For the first few months, I thought I was hot shit. John Constantine, motherfucker; deporting shit back to Hell.” I laugh and take a drag on my cigarette, trying to blow smoke rings and failing. “But then a job went sideways and… I mean, no one but me got hurt, but it was a wake up call. I actually quit, or tried to, but it turns out this isn’t a job you _can_ quit. Especially not in Garrison.”

“Especially not in Garrison?”

“The whole city is sitting on top of a rift. It’s like… A big hole between our plane and whatever is underneath us. Judging from the shit that comes out of it, the thing underneath us is Hell. It’s always open, but every now and again it gets feisty and more shit than usual comes through. We’re in one of those phases at the moment, which is why you saw me take out an entire ghoul nest the other night in the middle of the business district. It’s why there were so many dead things crawling all over your apartment building, though, I’ve never seen it misbehave this badly.” I admit, leaning forward to ash my cigarette. I sniff and look over to see if I’ve lost Shiro. He’s listening, leaning toward me slightly. “I’m not the best for explaining it. We have a research team. You’re likely to meet them at some point.”

“No- no, you explained it well. I understand, as much as I can, I mean.” Shiro says, smiling while his gaze goes somewhere further than me. “I suppose I have a pretty open mind, in light of all that’s happened. I had figured that the things I’m seeing came from _somewhere_ , and not just my head. Though I was worried I was crazy for a while.”

“What convinced you otherwise?”

“I figured that if I was going to be seeing things, they would be a little more interested in me.” He says with a laugh and I smile crookedly over at him. Can’t argue with that logic.

I realize after a moment that we’re both just sitting on the couch _gazing_ at each other and again my brain loops back around to the idea of Shiro being some sort of empath. I’m reluctant to entertain the idea that we might just get along. I can’t help but admit that I find him attractive.

I’m the one to break the staring contest, grabbing our mugs and getting up to make more coffee and Shiro lets me without saying a thing. When I come back to the couch he’s reading again, and the moment’s passed.

We kill the afternoon like this, Shiro happily devouring his book while I devour lame horror stories online. We take turns making coffee until Shiro cuts me off at four no matter how much I complain. Shiro eventually gets up to shower, taking his change of clothes in with him and I can hear him humming in the shower which makes me smile to myself just a little. At around six o’clock, I get a SnapChat from Lance which is half of his face with a shit-eating grin in the foreground, and Hunk pulling something out of the oven in the back. The caption reads: look at this!!! #wifeymaterial, followed by a long chain of emojis.

I snort. Dork. They’re already engaged.

I take the SnapChat as marching orders and finally extract myself from the couch and once Shiro leaves the bathroom I go in. I look as bad as I expected, the bags under my eyes starting to look a little like bruises and I have a burst blood vessel in my right eye, which usually happens when I don’t sleep. I wash my face anyway, on the off chance it will make a difference and also to feel slightly less grimy, then I brush my teeth and comb my hair up into a ponytail. It’s getting a little long, my bangs falling into my eyes. I sweep them aside and call it good.

“Are we going now? Isn’t it a bit early?” Shiro asks when I step out of the bathroom looking a little more groomed. I pick up my phone and my smokes from the coffee table.

“Allura’s house is out in the suburbs. And she likes it if I come early to help her set the table.” I shrug my coat on and put my smokes and phone into their designated pockets, knife against the small of my back- chances are high Allura will send me home with a job. Shiro’s changed into black jeans and a white button down that’s slightly creased from being shoved into a gym bag. He pulls his pea coat on over top and he’s the kind of person who can make anything look magazine-worthy. I would worry about him being cold, but we’re going to be indoors. I go to the closet and dig up a spare scarf for him anyway, which he accepts with a thank you.

My truck starts after three tries, which seems to be the lucky number and I text Allura to let her know we’re on our way. Most of the end of day traffic has cleared out so I cruise comfortably down the roads and streets towards the suburbs. Shiro tries to make my radio work for nearly five minutes before I have mercy and tell him it’s fucked, at which he gripes that I could have told him sooner. I grin.

It takes around half an hour to get out into the suburbs, out to the home that’s been Allura’s since she was a little girl. It’s a small but rather grand two storey structure built sometime in the 1920s. A few summers ago I had helped Allura and Coran repaint it in pastel shades of purples and white, accents in dark grey to make the rest of it pop. Allura had a particular taste and it showed in most aspects of her life. I park in the driveway because Lance and Hunk can suck it with their fancy hybrid car and park on the street like heathens. I cut across the immaculately kept grass while Shiro follows the pavers up to the porch steps, the door swinging open on Coran’s cheery grin before I can even raise my hand to knock.

“Shiro! Keith!” He says, like he wasn’t expecting us. “Come in! Allura’s in the dining room, she’s getting all fussy about the flowers, you know what she’s like. Go and tell her everything looks fine- let me take your coats.” Coran says in a rush, which translates just fine for me but Shiro looks the same shade of overwhelmed as he had the day before. We both shrug off our coats and hand them to Coran, toeing our shoes off before padding up the hardwood hallway and into the dining room, a warm room with the same dark hardwood floor as the hallway and striped green wallpaper. The tabletop is frameless glass, polished to a shine with a pale green runner, a vase in the centre where Allura is fussing with an arrangement of pink roses. I tap my knuckle against the archway and she looks up over the top of the flowers, her frown of concentration turning into a bright smile.

“What do you think?” She asks, gesturing widely. I smile at her, stepping into the room to inspect her work. I hum thoughtfully, squinting for effect as I lean in towards the vase.

“Beautiful, Allura. Coran told me to tell you to stop fussing.” I laugh and she rolls her eyes good-naturedly before coming around the table to pull me into a hug. I make a face so she squeezes me tighter and sways me from side to side until I’m groaning.

“Okay, _mom_.” I huff and she lets me go, ruffling my hair up before her attention turns to Shiro who’s leaning against the archway looking amused. I pout just a little at him before I take my leave, heading into the kitchen. I find the soft, cloth place mats that Allura prefers and get the plates down out of the cupboard, then count out five sets of silverware. This is familiar. I used to do this every single Sunday as a teenager, when I stayed with Coran and Allura rather than a foster home or half-way house. Coran would make a roast on Sundays and I set the table and did the dishes after. Allura helped in the kitchen. There’s a slow and thorough stab of guilt that slides up through my ribs when I think about why that had all come to an end. The same reason why Hunk and Lance won’t ask how me and Shiro met.

I breathe out hard and gather up the plates, cutlery and placemats and carry them through to the dining room to set them out. Shiro and Allura are gone; she’s probably taking him on a tour. She’s very house proud. I lay the place settings out the same as I always have, rubbing imperfections out of the silverware with my t-shirt. I go back for wine and water glasses and set those out, too. Shiro comes back into the room alone, smiling at me gently.

“Allura and Coran are very nice.”

“And intense.” I laugh, pulling out a seat and dropping into it. Shiro rubs the back of his neck and bobs his head noncommittally. Shiro pulls up a seat beside me, reaching to twirl the stem of a wine glass between his fingers idly. “They mean well, but I think you’ve figured out by now that people in my line of work don’t have great social skills. Sometimes you’d think they’re from a different planet.” Shiro laughs at that, looking from the glass to me.

“I don’t know, you seem to be pretty high functioning.” He says and I glance away, tapping my fingers against the back of my chair. I wonder what Allura said to him for him to speak in such a soft tone.

“My people mask has gotten pretty convincing, then.” I joke lamely but Shiro still laughs. The moment passes, and then I hear an almighty noise from the front of the house the signals the arrival of Hunk and Lance. I wince and look back at Shiro. “God, brace yourself. Here they come.”

“Yo, punk!” Lance hollers up the hallway and I drag myself to my feet, my hands on my hips as I wait in the archway for him. He slides on his socks on the polished floor, spinning on his heels to face me. “You look like your usual shade of death warmed over, I see.”

“Charming as ever.” I drawl and then Lance barrels into me, slipping a little on his socks so that I have to brace him or end up on my ass. His hug is fucking back-cracking and I groan. Hunk arrives in time to grab him by the scruff and pull him away, tucking his dumbass fiance under one thick arm, his other hand holding what appears to be a peach cobbler.

“It’s rude to speak ill of the dead, dear.” He says and I’m appalled to see that Lance’s sass has rubbed off on my previously gentle giant of a friend. I gape indignantly and then Hunk smiles warmly at me and hands me the peach cobbler. Apology accepted.

“Hunk, Lance, this is my friend Shiro,” I say, finding my manners. I gesture vaguely over my shoulder and Shiro gets up out of his seat, reaching to shake hands but instead he gets caught up into a hug that makes his eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“Good to meet you, Shiro. I’m Hunk, this is Lance.” Hunk says once Shiro has been released. Lance weasels his way out from under Hunk’s arm to give me a shove towards the kitchen and I oblige, following him in.

I set the dish on the counter which I then lean against, folding my arms across my chest. Lance leans on the island counter across from me, mirroring my position.

“How you doing, man?” He asks, all of his bravado dropping as he considers me. I scratch at my hairline and try to find patterns in the tiles.

“I’m pretty good, actually. Just a little sleep deprived right now.” I know better than to lie to him about this by now. He has a mean left hook and he isn’t afraid to use it. “Drinking lots of coffee.”

“Shiro looks like a good guy.” He says carefully and I snort, raising an eyebrow at him.

“He is, but you know you say that about ‘em all, before you even have a conversation with them.” This isn’t all a complete lie, we’re just on slightly different pages context wise this time. He hunches his narrow shoulders up around his ears and drops them with a sigh. He glances over to the kitchen archway, then leans forward.

“Are you two…?”

“No! No.” I shake my head and push Lance’s face back with my hand. “No. He’s just a friend.”

“That was three no’s, bro.” Lance says, raising his eyebrows like he’s caught me out on something. I roll my eyes and he reaches to shove my shoulder. “He’s your type. Built like a tank, polite. The total opposite of you.”

“Oh my god.” I groan, dragging my hand down my face. “Are you done? Allura’s already tried it.”

“One more thing.” Lance says, the playfulness dropping again and I swallow, shoving my hands into my jeans pockets. “You still clean…? It’s been awhile since you’ve had a sponsor…” He trails off, and I watch him look me over through my eyelashes.

“I’m clean.” I say, firmly but quietly. “Just a fuckton of nicotine. He’s just…” I roll my shoulders and look over at Lance properly. “Security.”

“Okay.” Lance nods, pushing himself away from the counter and clapping me on the shoulder. “Whatever Coran is cooking smells fucking fantastic, let’s go sit.”

Dinner goes better than I had expected. Hunk and Lance learn more about Shiro than I’ve managed in two days, and Shiro is genuinely interested in hearing about how they met. They’re high school sweethearts which is enough to make your teeth rot, but the story doesn’t end there. They had gotten accepted into different colleges in different states and were separated for four years, deciding that a long distance relationship wasn’t for them. Can’t blame them. It’s hard. And then they had come back to Garrison and ran into each other in a fucking coffee shop. A real life meet-cute. The rest is history that they cheerfully repeat and Shiro is eating it up while I eat my dinner and feign gagging over the way they correct one another on inane details. They start talking about the wedding after a while and Shiro asks them all kinds of questions, truly interested in these two dorks’ lives even though he only just met them. Allura throws me a knowing smile when she catches me looking over at Shiro. I roll my eyes. Everyone is always reading into shit that isn’t there.

After dinner and dessert, Allura wrangles me into doing the dishes and Shiro volunteers to help.

“You’re friends are really nice.” He says as he takes the dish I hand him to dry. No one ever just does the dishes in silence. I make a little hum of agreement.

“For a couple of losers, yeah, they are.” I say with a smile as I pick at a bit of something burnt onto the edge of a pot. “I guess they balance out the weirdness of my life.”

“Is that why they don’t know?” He asks quietly, aware that they’re only in the next room. I look up at him and nod a little.

“Yeah. I don’t know if they would believe me, anyway. They would just think I’m crazy.” I laugh a little, humorlessly. Shiro takes the pot from me before I break a nail, filling it with the dish water and putting it aside to soak. I look up at him and he holds my gaze for a couple of seconds.

“I’m glad you have people who do believe you.” He smiles at I look away, shaking the soap suds off my hands.

“Do you mind finishing up?”

-

Allura finds me out on her porch smoking, wrapping a shawl around her as she steps out into the cold, coming to lean against the railing beside me. “Ever considered quitting?”

I contemplate the smoke between my fingers for a moment, the ash falling off in the breeze. “No.”

“They’ll kill you one day.”

“A lot of things will kill me one day.” I snort, “like this job, but we both know I can’t quit that, either.”

“You do good work.” Allura hums, gazing out over her lawn, her arms folded on the railing. “What’s on your mind? Relax, I haven’t been in your head. It’s just obvious.”

“Shiro’s a seer.” I look over at her, frowning at her non-reaction. “You knew, didn’t you?”

“I was in _his_ head, Keith.” She says, raising her eyebrows at me. I frown further and she waves me off. “I figured he would tell you when he was ready. It wasn’t pertinent information.”

I sigh and scrub my eye with the heel of my hand. “Is he an empath as well?”

“An empath?” Allura straightens up, running a hand through her hair, sweeping it over one shoulder to idly braid it. “It’s possible. I don’t know- why?”

I sniff and scratch at my hairline. “Nevermind. Listen, can he stay with you from now on?”

“Why?” Allura frowns and I guess it did come pretty left of field. I stand my ground.

“He’s getting a little cozy. He’ll get in the way and I have work to do while we try and figure out what’s going on with him, which seems like it’s going to take a while given that we have no idea and no leads.” Allura levels me with a look that I try not to squirm under, and then she sighs, her expression softening, and takes my hand in hers.

“Keith, you know he’s safer with you.” She says as she rubs some warmth into my skin. “And there’s nothing wrong with letting someone get close to you. You need more friends. Whether he’s an empath or if you just genuinely enjoy his company, let it be. He’s a brave man, he’s not going to slow you down, he’s going to aide you. You said it yourself that he has a knack for this.” I hate it when she’s right. I sigh and hang my head and Allura presses a kiss to my crown. “You’re so dramatic.”

“He only likes me because I pulled him out of a bad situation.” I grouse and she laughs at me, grabbing me by the shoulders to shake me.

“Maybe, but that’s not a bad thing! Would you relax? He’s sweet, smart and handsome. You’re stuck with him. Deal.” I heave another sigh and roll my head back and she pulls me into a hug, swaying me side to side. “What would you do without me, baby brother?”

“God, please don’t call me that.”

Allura drags me back inside after she’s done hugging the grump out of me as much as it can be, and we rejoin our friends in the dining room where Coran and Lance are chatting Shiro’s ear off. Lance has had at least two glasses of wine judging from his volume level. Hunk has his arm around his shoulders to stop him from falling out of his seat. This is… nice. It’s normal, which I don’t get a lot of. I sit at the head of the table with my chin in my hand, smiling lazily. When Shiro throws a grin, I grin back. _Let it be._

Hunk eventually decides it’s time to take Lance home, stuffing him into his coat and saying goodbye to us all as he bustles Lance across the lawn. Shiro and I get ready to leave as well and Allura hands me a scrap of paper with job details on it.

“Another ghoul.” She says and I glance over the address. About half an hour away in the opposite direction of home.

“Oh! Wait here,” Coran pipes up and turns up the hallway, jogging up the stairs. He comes back a minute later and hands me a few folded over bills. Payment from the last ghoul. I guess the poltergeist was a freebie.

“Thanks, man.” I say and Coran claps me on the shoulder as I shove the money into my hip pocket. I endure another hug from Allura and she hugs Shiro as well, thanking him for doing the dishes and I close the door behind us as we step outside into the cold.

“I’m gonna take care of this job and then we’ll go home, okay?” I unlock the truck and climb in. It starts on the first go; guess it’s my lucky night. Shiro doesn’t protest and I back out of the driveway and take a moment to put the address into Google maps, resting my phone in the cup holder.

The location for the job is suitably spooky at almost eleven at night in a rough part of the city; most of the buildings are abandoned, boarded up with for sale signs nailed to them. It’s only a matter of time before a developer swoops in and gentrifies the area, but that’s not a bad thing in this situation. I park against the curb and take off my scarf and coat. Nothing that the ghoul can grab and strangle me with or the like. I redo my ponytail to catch flyaways and open my door.

“Stay here, okay? This won’t take long. It’s only one ghoul, probably strayed from its nest since there’s not much out here.”

“You’ll be okay by yourself?” Shiro frowns slightly but I wave off his concern.

“I do this for a living, I’m good.” I throw him a comforting smile and hop down onto the sidewalk, popping the catch on my knife and keep my hand on the grip. I head straight for the nearest alleyway because I know these creatures better than I want to. I kind of wish I grabbed the flashlight in my truck but the streetlight provides enough that I can see four or five feet ahead of me. The grime in the alleyway is slick under my boots so I walk carefully.

There is an absolutely _putrid_ smell in the air- like rotting meat but with a cloying sweetness underneath it, like cheap perfume had been dumped out on the bricks. I actually gag, tucking my face into the crook of my elbow and drawing my knife out of its sheath. There’s a sinking feeling in my gut as I consider what the stench could possibly be and then my suspicion is confirmed.

“Shit.” I breathe out when I find the body. I swallow down the rising bile. It’s a man, his stomach ripped open and his innards are splayed out over the alleyway floor along with his blood, dried and black, caked into the cracks. He’s been here for a while, his eyes sunken down into his skull and there are maggots festering in the hole the ghoul had made in him so it could eat half of his large intestines. I think he’s starting to bloat. Jesus. I squeeze my eyes shut and take a step back. Then a strange, throaty gurgle comes from the body and I freeze, fear reaching through me and clutching its hand tight around my heart, which has relocated into my throat. I stare down at the body, tightening my grip on my knife. There’s no chance this man is alive. No way. Regardless, he makes another strange, throaty noise and I recognize it vaguely as _laughter_.

Oh God. What the fuck.

His lips peel back from his teeth, the skin splitting as he grins slowly and impossibly large and even though his eyes are basically _soup_ at this point, they roll in their sockets towards me. There’s a tremor in my hands. The man laughs again, gurgling and crackling, his teeth chattering together like a cartoon skull except he’s far more terrifying.

“ _We a re g oing to cr ush yo u”_ The corpse croaks out, the sound warping around a decaying tongue, the mouth not moving in time with the words like his strings are being pulled by a bad puppet master. The words ricochet around my head and I stumble back. The corpse laughs again, black ooze sliding out of the corner of its mouth. “ _W e are g oing to br eak you so yo u can watch us t ake h i m.”_

That gets my attention, my need to do my job cutting through solid, deep fear. My eyes widening and even though my entire body is resisting I step back towards the body, letting out a shuddering breath. “What are you talking about?” The corpse laughs, the whole body shaking with the sound as its head lulls towards me. “Who are you?”

“ _Thirteen. Th ir teen will bu rn hi m up an d thei r children wi ll hav e this earth agai n.”_

“ _What?_ ” I snap, sick of that hitching, clicking, rasping voice that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget. “What do you mean, thirteen?”

The corpse rattles with laughter again, black ooze spilling all over its chin and down its jawline and I step back.

You would think I could spot a distraction by now, given that I’ve been doing this for nearly ten years.

I hear the scrape of claws on brick a second too late, looking over my shoulder but only catching the ghoul from the corner of my eye as it lunges down at me. It knocks the breath out of me and as I fly forward I pray to God that the impact will knock me out. I crack my head on the brick _hard_ but I’m still conscious. I watch my knife slide through the grime and reach for it, but the ghoul grabs my arm and digs its claws deep into my forearm. I wheeze in pain and struggle but the ghoul is on my back, its claws curled around my hips, digging into my skin and keeping me pinned. The fucking corpse is still laughing and I think it’s taunting me but I can’t hear much past the roaring in my ears which I think is my blood pounding through me.

I turn my head to look over my shoulder and I don’t give a fuck- I am _trembling, shaking_ because I am fucking _terrified_ . My hand slaps uselessly against the brick searching for my knife and the ghoul pins my other arm to the ground. I think I’m crying, I might even be screaming as I watch over my shoulder as it open its mouth wide, it’s long, slimy tongue coming down to drag over my cheek, leaving black-green ooze in its wake that reeks like tar and garbage and, _God_ , rotting flesh.

_W e are g oing to br eak you_

The ghoul opens its mouth further, lips peeling back to expose its narrow, sharp teeth- like an anglerfish- and it keeps opening its mouth until its jaw dislocates and the skin splits all the way up to its ears.

It’s going to eat me. Oh God, it’s going to eat me. I’m going to die alone in an alleyway and this ghoul is going to _eat me_.

It comes down on me and I still have the self-preservation to jerk myself hard to one side and instead of taking a bite out of my head, its teeth sink deep into my shoulder.

I don’t exactly feel pain. I feel the way its teeth sink into my skin and tear through my muscles. I think I even feel its teeth scrape against my bones. There’s a loud crack. Was that my collarbone?

I hear somewhere from far away screams which are definitely mine and crackling static, as well as a noise I can’t place. Something like a wet, sick sounding crack and then I feel the ghoul ripping its teeth out of me- _must be eating me…-_ and I scream again as I hear a _pop_ and feel claws ripping across my back and up my arm.

The pressure of the ghoul on my back is gone and there are a few more of those wet cracks and grunts of exertion. I lie uselessly on the ground, breathing in the smell of mud and decay and my blood. Lots of my blood. Everything is starting to smell like copper.

“Keith? _Keith?!_ ” Shiro’s pale face contorted with horror comes into my foggy line of vision. I blink slowly at him and wonder when I’ll start going into shock. He brings his hands up to my face but doesn’t touch me, his hands then moving to my shoulder which is just red from what I can see. That’s my blood. Huh. “Oh, God, okay. Just hold on. I’ll get you out of here, it’s okay.”

He goes around to the other side of me and kneels down, lifting my arm up over his shoulder and bracing my chest with one hand as he carefully pulls me up onto my feet. My left arm dangles lamely at my side. Did it get dislocated? Blood drips off the tip of my fingers. Shiro lifts me right off my feet, holding me like a bride and I let him carry all of my weight because I don’t have a choice, dropping my head against his shoulder. My back feels like it’s on _fire_. Shiro is soothing me, rambling that I’m okay, I’m okay, just stay awake, I’m okay.

He puts me in the passenger seat of my truck and grabs my scarf, pressing it down hard on my shoulder to try and stop the bleeding. He takes my good hand it puts it on top of the scarf, pressing hard. “Keep pressure on it, you’re okay.” He says again, near my face. I blink up at him and nod a little and he vanishes, going around the truck to get into the driver’s seat. The engine doesn’t start and he curses and slams his hands against the steering wheel a few times. He tries again and the engine turns over and comes to life. It makes the truck rattle and I feel it in all of my bones. The pain is starting to come through and it’s overwhelming- God, I wish I was unconscious right now.

“Okay. We’ve got to get you to a hospital- just hold on.”

“No-” I splutter, shaking my head which makes me feel woozy. “No, take me to Coran.”

“ _What?_ No- you need to see a doctor right now!”

“Take me to Coran!” I spit, curling my fingers into the fabric of my scarf. His grip on the steering wheel is white-knuckled.

“Keith-”

“JUST FUCKING DO IT!” I scream, breathing out hard through my nose. Blinking is hard. There are big black spots getting in the way of everything. I hear Shiro give a shuddering breath.

“Okay. Okay. I’ll take you to Coran.” He finally agrees, putting the truck into drive and pulling away from the curb. I close my eyes and rest my head against the window. God, I can’t stop shaking. “Keith? Keith, please try and stay awake. We’ll be there soon.”

I swallow thickly and nod against the cool glass, but I can’t keep my promise. The world goes fuzzy and Shiro’s desperate pleas are far away from me.

I hear that strange, crackling voice in my head and I wish it was static instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr](http://stickywrites.tumblr.com/)


	4. Chapter 4

I wake up to Allura’s hands on my face and an itchy, pulling sensation behind my eyes. I blink up at her, and the only noise I can make is a pretty pathetic gurgle.

“Shh,” Allura soothes, rubbing my temples with her thumbs. “I’m just helping you manage the pain. The less you remember is probably for the best.”

I blink hard and manage to get my eyes open all the way, sighing under her gentle ministrations. Her expression is soft with relief. “Did I punch Coran when you guys popped my shoulder back into place?” Allura smiles, laughing a little.

“Yes. He’s got a pretty impressive black eye thanks to you.”

“Had it comin’,” I murmur, turning my cheek into her palm, cool against my clammy skin. She pushes her fingers through my hair, catching on knots that she gently works out. I feel disgusting, I _know_ I smell bad, but I don’t have the heart to tell Allura to stop touching me. “What’s the damage?”

“Well, you sure do like to flirt with death.” She says as she carefully sits down on the edge of my bed, her hand still playing with my hair, pushing it back from my face. “Your back got ripped to shreds. When Shiro got the ghoul off you, it didn’t let go without a fight. You’ll have some new scars across your shoulder blades and the small of your back. You’re full of stitches, on your arms as well, but those aren’t too bad.” I still groan, flopping my head to one side, “your shoulder was dislocated, and your collarbone was broken when it bite you. You lost a lot of blood. Your shoulder is… It’s pretty bad. The scarring will be bad. It took a chunk out of you, kid.”

“I thought it was going to eat me.” I confess and I don’t care if Allura can hear how fucking scared I was. She scratches along my scalp gently. “If Shiro hadn’t stopped it, it would have eaten me.”

“I told you he would aide you.” She teases weakly and I roll my eyes which makes them burn. God. I feel so fragile. “He got you here. Held your hand the whole time Coran stitched you up. He didn’t panic.”

“Yeah,” I breathe a laugh, “he’s good like that. Where is he?”

“Sleeping on the couch downstairs. I talked him into getting a few hours.” She slides her hand out of my gross hair and pats my good shoulder lightly. “Speaking of, you definitely need more sleep. Do I need to coerce you?” I shake my head as much as I can without feeling dizzy, cheerfully closing my eyes against the dull light of the room. It must be day time. I don’t know how long I’ve been out. Allura gets up off the bed and kisses my cheek before leaving the room, closing the door softly behind her. I sink back down into the dark in seconds.

When I wake up again, soft lamp light is filling the room which I realize now is the room I claimed as mine when I lived here. I sniff and turn my head, finding Shiro in the seat beside me, a book in hand. He looks over at me, smiling when he sees me awake.

“Hey,” I croak, smiling weakly at him. He looks tired, bags under his eyes and his hair sticking up on end. He pulls his chair closer to the bed so he can rest his elbows on the mattress, smiling right back at me.

“Hi there. How are you feeling?”

“... Rough.” I admit after a moment of consideration. My entire body feels like it’s full of lead. I can feel every single bruise and every single stitch that’s holding me together. Even my legs hurt and they got the least trauma. I guess slamming down onto the bricks counted. My whole body is just mad at me about the whole thing. Shiro takes my right hand in his, looking over the dried blood caught under my nails. I try curling the fingers of my left hand, up in a sling, and it makes the stitches in my arm pull. “Kinda like I almost got eaten.”

“Mmm, is that what the kids are calling it these days?” I laugh, which doesn’t hurt too badly. Shiro sighs, cupping his cheek in his palm, his focus returning to my limp hand in his. I’m tempted to just close my eyes again, but I know the look that’s pulling on Shiro’s features and I can’t sleep until I’ve gotten it to ease up. I tap my fingers against his palm.

“Hey.” Shiro looks over at me, his mouth a downwards curve. “I would have died without you. Don’t feel bad about coming in when you did. Saved my life.”

“I should have gone in with you.” He says, and I sigh at his attempt to hold onto his guilt. I know what it’s like. I’ve been there before. You think of all of the different scenarios that would have given you a better result, going around your head in circles instead of just facing the facts. You can do a lot in the world that I live in, but you can’t time travel. Can’t go back and make a different decision. I lift my hand with a great deal of effort to tap Shiro’s chin with my knuckle.

“I told you to stay in the car. That was my decision.” I feel Shiro’s sigh against my fingers before I drop my hand back onto the sheets. “It was supposed to just be a normal job. It went sideways.” Shiro nods reluctantly at that, folding his arms on the bed and sinking down. I indulge, lifting my hand again to smooth his hair back. It's a little greasy and full of knots, but still nice to touch. Shiro stays quiet, and I decide I'm too exhausted for anymore conversation so I give in and close my eyes.

I don’t know how much time I lose falling in and out of sleep. Every time I open my eyes someone is there, making me drink water or soup. Allura periodically comes and coaxes my mind into ignoring the pain in my body and Shiro at some point comes in and washes my face with a warm cloth. I want a shower badly. Coran has to help me to the bathroom just to piss though, so I don’t want to negotiate bathing.

I eventually wake up feeling less like death warmed over and I’m alone in my room, something I’m no longer used to. Fuck it. Might as well see how wrecked my body really is. I push myself up out of my stack of pillows, pushing the blankets off. I’m shirtless, but someone was considerate enough to put me in sweatpants so my modesty is intact or something. I swing my legs off the bed, getting myself onto my feet with the aide of the nightstand. Okay. Not so bad. The stitches on my hips pull and itch but I ignore it and put my weight into my legs, which shake a little from disuse but I’m steady… enough. I leave my room, glancing along the hallway but I can’t see or hear anyone. I guess Coran and Allura are at the shop. Shiro must be downstairs, so I decide to see how many steps I can get down before I feel like I want to rip all my stitches out. I hold the banister with white knuckles the whole way down to the first floor, but by the time I get down my legs are working properly.

“Keith?” Shiro sticks his head out of the living room door, his eyebrows drawn up in surprise. “What are you doing up?”

“I got a little sick of stewing in my own sweat.” I say and he scrunches his nose up and laughs. I smirk a little and follow him back into the living room, noting the faint signs of my blood still on the ottoman where they had laid me down to work on my back. Bits and pieces have come back to me over the days. Shiro has the TV on low and he pulls the blanket off the back of the couch to throw over my shoulders as I sit down next to him. He’s watching some lame show about aliens which makes me give him serious side-eye, but he doesn’t look even remotely embarrassed. Alright. “Coran and Allura at the shop?”

“Yeah, it’s Tuesday.”

“How many days did I lose?”

“Three.” Shiro says with a little sympathetic smile as I groan and lean my head back against the couch. That makes it like, five days since I last showered. Nasty. “But you do look better now. You’ve got your color back.”

“Have you been sleeping?” I ask, squinting over at him. He looks okay, the bags under his eyes haven’t gotten worse from the last few times I remember seeing his face. He rubs at his undercut and I notice that it’s grown out a little, the intricate patterns shaved into it not as clean as they had been a week ago. I get sidetracked wondering how often they need to be redone.

“Yeah, Allura’s been helping me fall asleep at night.” I frown over at him, lifting my head and shifting carefully to face him better. He drops his gaze and scratches at his jawline, at the short stubble growing there. I hate that all I can think about is how good it looks on him.

_Nothing makes you feel close to someone quite like being rescued by them._

“You haven’t been able to sleep?” I ask quietly. He tucks his legs up under himself as he turns to face me entirely.

“I kept seeing you in that alleyway. I’ve never seen so much blood coming from one person, Keith. I couldn’t tell where you were hurt, I was terrified it was your neck and you’d bleed out.” A muscle slides in Shiro’s jaw as he swallows. “And… I killed that ghoul. I’ve never killed anything bigger than a spider.” He snorts humorlessly and my face falls. I hadn’t even thought about that. Even if it’s a ghoul, in some form it’s still a life and it takes a lot to take that life. For Shiro, it had been desperation, fear. He probably hadn’t even thought about what he was doing until it was done and he was covered in its black blood as well as mine.

He had taken a life and it had taken some part of him with it.

I look away, breathing out slowly. The sharp point of guilt slides up between my ribs and it’s some testament to how fucking fragile I am right now that I feel like crying over this. Shiro had killed for me and that was something irreparable, something he would bear long after I’m out of his life. Which will hopefully be soon, before I fuck him up even more.

“Keith?”

“-Sorry.” I sniff, realizing how long I’ve been quiet for. “Just a little tired. I really want a shower.”

“Well, I can change your dressings afterwards if you want. You should be okay to shower, and Coran has an impressive collection of slings so you can keep that one on.”

“All part of the job.” I chuckle, but I smile appreciatively at him. “That would be great though. Thanks.”

Shiro helps me up off the couch and then up the stairs, ignoring me when I say I’m fine to get up by myself. He carries me like I’m nothing. He doesn’t feel the need to help me in the bathroom. I wriggle out of my sweatpants while the shower warms up and I get a full view of the damage in the mirror.

My back is covered in adhesive bandages, wrapping around my hips and the small of my back, and across my shoulder blades. The wound on my shoulder is packed with gauze, held in place by a bandage that winds under both of my armpits, crossing over my chest under my sling. I have a nasty bruise on my forehead from hitting the ground that extends down to my cheekbone. There’s a graze on my chin that’s mostly healed. My knees are bruised so badly that they look _black_ , mottled with purple. In short, I look fucking terrible.

The hot water feels amazing on my skin, melting out some of the knots in my muscles. I just stand there for a long time before carefully pulling off the soaked bandages, breathing deeply to grind through the pain as I twist my right arm behind me to get at the ones on my shoulder blades. I let them drop into the bath and leave them there. Washing is a painstaking ordeal but I manage, grateful for infinite hot water so that I can take my time. Once I’ve managed to wash as much of my body as possible and I’ve gotten shampoo through my hair, I’m fucking exhausted. I stand under the water stream trembling slightly, and the dam fucking breaks. What starts as a few sniffly tears turns into _sobs_ that I don’t bother to stifle. The water is covering the sounds, I’m sure. My breathing is doing that stupid hitching, hiccuping thing that makes your throat feel raw. I just let go. I cry for myself. I cry for Shiro and Allura and Coran, Hunk and Lance. I cry out my guilt for all the shit I’ve put them through- not just over the past three days, but in general. The past week. The past nine years of my life.

I wait until my breathing has evened out before turning off the water and I stagger out of the bath, feeling both exhausted and about sixty percent better. Physically: fucked. Mentally: slightly less fucked. I dry myself as much as I can tolerate before loosely wrapping the towel around my hips and leaving to head back to my room. Shiro’s waiting with a book and Coran’s oversized first-aid kit on the floor next to his seat. He smiles up at me, and then there’s a flicker of concern as he gets out of his seat. I must look like I’ve been crying. He doesn’t mention it.

“I’ll just grab another towel, the bandages won’t stick if your skin’s damp.” I nod a little and just wait in the middle of the room until he gets back. “Do you mind if I…?”

“No, no. It’s pretty hard to dry myself off.” Shiro nods a little and starts by drying off my good arm and shoulder, moving across my back as carefully as he can. As he moves down to the small of my back I let the towel slip down a little. Heat raises into my cheeks a touch as he dries off the swell of my ass. Christ. He’s thorough but in a sort of professional way. No undertones. “I’ll bandage up your arm first and then we’ll take off your sling.”

“Okay.” I say with a small nod. I breath in deeply, and any heat in my face is leached away. This is going to hurt. I’m already sore. Shiro comes back around to face me, his eyebrows knitting together as he looks me over, touching my cheek lightly.

“You’re looking a little peaky. Do you need pain killers first? Coran has codeine…”

“No.” I snap unintentionally, diverting my gaze. “... Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Shiro says quietly and he picks up the first-aid kit and puts it on the bed, zipping it open. I wander over to him, offering out my arm. He wipes down the wounds with antiseptic that makes me grind my teeth with the way it stings, and then he covers them over with bandages. I’m guessing he’s been watching Coran change my dressings while I slept because he goes about it methodically and with confident hands. I hold my wrist of my left arm to keep it in the position the sling had it in once it’s removed and Shiro removes the soaked bandages I hadn’t been able to get at, dropping them in the waste basket in the corner of the room. I close my eyes when he removes the bandages and gauze from the wound on my shoulder. I don’t want to see how much flesh got ripped away there. I whimper quietly, pressing my lips together into a tense line. I blanch from the pain and Shiro works a little faster. Once he’s done he strokes my cheek lightly and I breathe out through my nose. He replaces my sling with a dry one and goes around to cover up the wounds on my back. I have to drop my towel for him to get at the gashes on my hips. I hold it over my dick to keep some of my dignity intact. I’m not shy about my body, but it’s a little different when someone is sticking bandages over your wrecked skin at close range. I stare up at the ceiling and breathe through the pain and the twinge of embarrassment.

Once I’m all disinfected and bandaged up, Shiro fetches me a pair of clean sweatpants from the dresser and he helps me step into them and tugs them up to mid-thigh. He turns away while I drop the towel completely and pull the pants up to my hips.

“Your hair,” Shiro says once I’ve given him the all clear. I push my wet bangs off of my face, but they flop back. “Want me to brush it out? It’ll dry funny otherwise.”

“Oh. Uh. Sure.” I sit myself down on the bed carefully, too tired now to stay upright. Shiro leaves to find a comb and it’s actually pretty nice to have someone else comb out my hair. I don’t think anyone ever has, especially since long hair is a recent experiment in my aesthetic. I’m surprised when Shiro twists it into a short braid and ties it off.

“It’ll stop it from getting all tangled while you sleep.” He explains when I blink up at him. “I changed the sheets while you were in the shower, you look like you need to sleep.” I smile a little and nod. He’s in full nurse mode. He even turns down the sheets. Jesus.

I groan as I climb into bed and settle in, finding a position that is vaguely comfortable. I’m grateful that I’m used to sleeping on my back. Almost immediately, I’m struggling to keep my eyes open. Sleep is calling like a siren.

Shiro fusses over my blankets for a moment and strokes my hair back from my forehead. I’m out like a light.

I guess I sleep for a few hours because when I come to, I can hear Coran crashing around downstairs. My head hurts from all of my crying so I get out of bed and follow the noise down into the dining room. My stitches are itching like crazy so I rub at my hips through my sweatpants. I stand awkwardly in the archway, Allura and Shiro talking between themselves at the table. I sniff and Allura looks up, smiling at me.

“It’s good to see you on your feet.” She says and Shiro twists in his seat to smile at me as well. I smile back crookedly, grateful still for his help earlier. I feel so much better after a shower.

“Smokes?” Is all I can think to say. I haven’t had a nicotine hit in days and my brain is telling me that it’s what I need. Allura rolls her eyes at me, gesturing to have a seat.

“After dinner. Come sit, it’s almost ready.” She instructs and I decide not to go three rounds with her over a cheap pack of menthols that she’s withholding. I sit beside Shiro, stifling a yawn. I help myself to his glass of water. Someone’s set the table instead of me. The utensils are on the wrong side of the plates. Allura tugs playfully on my braided hair and I look pointedly from her to Shiro. “It’s very cute.” She grins. For the most part the braid has fallen out, actually, my now dry hair slipping out of it to frame my face like a cobra’s hood. The tips curl slightly.

“Shut up.” I grumble into my glass and Shiro chuckles to my right. I catch his eye for a moment and smile.

Dinner is a little hard to eat with only one hand, but I refuse to allow anyone to cut up my food for me. I’m not five. And my dignity has already taken a beating in the past few days, given that I don’t doubt that everyone in the room has seen my ass and probably my dick while I was out cold, bleeding all over the place. _Someone_ had put me in clean pants. I zone out of the dinner time chatter, focusing more on how to eat lasagna with just a fork and nearly emptying the pitcher of water on the table. Shiro clears the table once everyone is done and by now my leg is bouncing; I _need_ a cigarette at this point. Allura obviously picks up on this, getting up and leaving the room to come back with my crushed pack. I pout a little as I pop it open; most of them are bent, but I find one reasonably intact.

“Please don’t smoke indoors.” Allura says in her best mom voice, ruffling my hair. She must have things to do for work, because she goes upstairs, leaving me be. I don’t have a lighter on me, so I get up and go to the kitchen to rummage through the ‘misc’ drawer for a book of matches. Shiro’s rinsing off the plates.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better,” I nod a little, scraping all the contents of the drawer to the front. I find a box of matches with a triumphant little sound and pocket them. I don’t bother with further small talk, I leave the kitchen and go up the hallway to open the front door. It’s fucking cold. I step out onto the porch anyway with a shiver and shove a less-bent cigarette between my lips. I’m trying to figure out how I’m going to light a match with one hand when the door opens and Shiro throws a big, fuzzy blanket over my shoulders, wrapping it around me.

“Are you trying to tempt fate?” He laughs at me, rubbing his hand over my good shoulder to drum up some warmth. I huff and roll my eyes a little, and go back to trying to light my match until Shiro takes that off me as well. The match catches with a pop and he holds it up for me. I lean into it, lighting the tip of my smoke. The first drag gives me a headrush, the world spinning but in a pleasant sort of way. I lean against the porch railing, facing out over the lawn and Shiro joins me, pulling his hoodie around him a little tighter. It’s his GU hoodie. He must have gone back to my apartment at some point and grabbed some things. We stand in silence for a while, me piping smoke and shivering. My toes are cold. Shiro folds his arms on the railing, swinging forward slightly.

“Is your life always like this?” He finally asks, his voice soft. A cough catches me by surprise and he looks up at me, concern flashing in his eyes. I shake my head and clear my throat.

“I… Yeah, I guess it is.” I admit, ashing my cigarette into the flowerbed under us. Sorry Coran. “I’ve never been this badly hurt before, but injuries are pretty common. A few years ago a wendigo did its best to take a chunk out of me, but I got away. My second go at it went better.”

“A wendigo.” Shiro deadpans, his brow furrowed. “What else is real? Vampires? Werewolves?”

“Werewolves, yeah. We have a small pack here in Garrison, but they’re good at self-policing. They go out to a remote part of Arus for when they change. They haven’t done any harm in years.” Shiro gapes at me and I smile sympathetically. Here I am, turning his life on its head with all the grace and consideration of a bull in a china shop. Again. “I’ve never met a vampire, but who knows? If they’re out there, I hope they’re more _Anne Rice_ than _From Dusk Til Dawn_.” That makes Shiro laugh and he combs his bangs back from his face. I admire him in profile for a moment, taking the last drag of my cigarette and grinding it out on the underside of the railing so Allura doesn’t have my head. “What?”

“I didn’t think you were the type to read Anne Rice.” I grin at him and shrug with my good shoulder.

“Lestat’s fun, and those books were the closest thing to gay erotica I could write reports about in high school.” I grin wider at him when he snorts and laughs properly. I shove him playfully and dig out another cigarette from my pack. It’s bent in the middle but it’ll do. Shiro lights it for me without looking disapproving of my life choices. He pulls my blanket up over my shoulders a little more so the back of my neck is protected.

“So,” he pockets the box of matches then scratches at his jawline, “are you gay?”

“You say that like you had your suspicions.” I hum, watching him from the corner of my eye. He rubs at his undercut and shrugs. It was an abrupt subject change unless me wanting to write book reports about homoerotic vampires made him question my sexual orientation. Which it might have.

“Something like that.” He says a little sheepishly, “maybe a touch of wishful thinking.”

I freeze at that, and if my fingers weren’t already frozen then the warmth would have drained right out of them, like my heart was trying to recall all the blood back to it. Shiro has found a very interesting patch of grass in front of us. I cough when I hold smoke in my lungs for too long, hacking into the crook of my elbow.

“Sorry.” He says when I’m quiet for too long. “I’m sorry, you don’t need this from me right now. I guess seeing you nearly die fanned the flames.”

“There was a spark to begin with?” I ask before I can stop myself, and I take interest in a dormant plant directly below me. I’m very aware that there is about an inch of space between us.

“You’re cute and you saved my life.” Shiro laughs to try and cut through the awkwardness he’s obviously feeling. He keeps rubbing at his neck and his undercut. I’m dizzy from how much smoke I’m pulling into my lungs. “And… This life you live,” he says a little softer and he finally looks over at me. It takes me a second, but I get brave and look at him, too. “It’s insane. It’s terrifying- but it’s also pretty amazing. Helping that spirit in Arus was amazing. How brave you are is amazing, too.”

I manage to blush even though it’s freezing, my ears burning. I don’t know how to handle praise because I don’t receive it like, ever. The thing about my job is that it happens almost exclusively in the dark, in secret. It’s a thankless job. Praise is completely off the table, until now. Shiro reaches over and takes my cigarette out from between my lips, considering it for a moment before he takes a short drag, pulling a face but he doesn’t cough, which is kind of impressive I guess. I smile crookedly, an eyebrow raised, and he returns the cigarette to my lips. I try not to think about some stupid playground shit about secondhand kisses.

“You’re the brave one. Allura’s been praising you since the moment I dragged you into this mess. You’ve gone through all of this and you haven’t panicked.”

“Not openly.” Shiro admits with a smile. There’s a snap of conflict in my chest between my need to get him the fuck away from me and this and everything before it fucking _breaks_ him and my need to allow myself to maybe let someone close to me, other than two surrogate family members and the only two friends I had in high school. I think about Allura, shaking me by the shoulders and telling me to just let it be whatever it ends up being.

I ash my cigarette and look away from him. “You’re cute, too.”

He smiles. I smile, too, and we just sit in it until I finish my cigarette and I decide to go back inside and thaw out my limbs. Allura’s coming down the stairs as we come inside, and she gives me a knowing smile. I frown and nearly close the living room door on Shiro in my huffy retreat from her.

I can’t dramatically throw myself down onto the couch so I instead gently ease myself down with a faint groan. Close enough. Shiro joins me and we have about three seconds of peace before Allura and Coran join us. We find a movie we can all semi-agree on and that’s how we spend our evening. Coran even makes popcorn and I grouse when I’m given water instead of soda. I apparently can have nicotine but caffeine is a no-go. Halfway through the second movie I’m nodding off, literally. I keep waking myself up and jerking my head upright until I just give into it and fall asleep right there on the couch, slumping against Allura’s shoulder. She puts her arm around me and I let her. There’s a tugging sensation behind my eyes as she subtly helps me manage my pain.

Shiro shakes me awake, the room dark and the TV off. I blink and grumble quietly, making some sort of questioning noise. Shiro smiles. “I’m gonna take you up to bed. Don’t wake up too much.”

I nod a little and don’t do anything to make it easier on Shiro to scoop me up off the couch. I curl my good hand into the back of his shirt, my head on his shoulder. He had carried me like this last when I was bleeding out. Now I’m sleepy and warm, the knowledge that he’s attracted to me very fresh on my mind.

He smells good, earthy and vaguely of the soap in the shower. He carries me like I’m fucking _nothing_ which is less emasculating and more really damn hot. Man-handling is fun when it’s not being done by some creature that crawled out of literal Hell. Shiro lays me down on my bed, tucking me in and all. I snag his wrist before he can leave, tugging lightly. He gently uncurls my fingers, shaking his head.

“I’m gonna go sleep on the couch.” He says and I can hear the smile. “Goodnight.”

“Night.”

-

By the following day, I’ve mastered the art of making myself into a blanket burrito, much as I despise the term, rolled up in one of Allura’s purple blankets while I watch more of Shiro’s lame alien shows in the living room. Shiro snuck me a cup of coffee since Allura and Coran are at work. I smoked half a cigarette indoors before I felt guilty and pinched it out.

I’m fucking bored.

I’m not good at just sitting around trying not to dig itching stitches out of my back. I’m used to being on the go, and I don’t think I’ve ever slept so much in so little time in my _life_. Being well rested is a bizarre feeling, and I’m not exactly that, anyway. Closer than I’ve ever been, at least. I’m worried about the rift and what it’s spewing out into my city. There’s no way no jobs have come up in the near-week I’ve spent just lying around. People might be getting hurt. I’m about ready to crawl out of my skin when I hear the front door bang open. Shiro and I both tense up, and he gets to his feet. I relax when I hear Lance hollering like he always does. The guy can’t just enter a house like a normal person. He opens the living room door and shoves his head through the gap, grinning like a shark when he lays eyes on me. I groan audibly.

“What is your ugly mug doing here?”

“ _My_ ugly mug?” He says with exaggerated offence, laying a hand against his chest. “You look like you got dragged face-down through a bush. Allura told me you got into an accident. What the fuck were you doing, sleepwalking on the highway or something?”

“Something.” I reply flatly and Lance snorts. He slides into the room entirely, a cloth bag in his other hand.

“Well, Hunk made you a bunch of food so you don’t waste away or whatever.” He said, lifting the bag. He smiles up at Shiro when he seems to notice him. “Hey, man. Keeping an eye on him?”

“Doing my best.” Shiro smiles back, sitting down now that the threat turns out to be a false alarm. Lance strides into the room and puts the bag on the coffee table.

“He made you chicken soup and slut brownies. Comfort food.” Lance sits on the coffee table across from me, leaning forward with his hands dangling between his knees. “How are you, though? I heard it was pretty bad. Could’ve died. I would’ve been here sooner, but today’s been my only day off recently.”

“It’s okay, man.” I say, nudging him with my foot. “The worst has passed, seriously. Now I’m just waiting to heal up. I’m like, eighty percent stitches.”

“Well, at least scars are hot. You might even get laid after this.” Lance says, and he thinks he’s slick when his gaze slides over to the right, where Shiro is politely minding his own business, watching TV. I roll my eyes and kick Lance in the shin. Ever since high school, he’s been picking fights with me. I nod towards the door and he gets the hint, helping me up off the couch. I abandon my blanket; I finally have a shirt on. Shiro had very carefully helped me put on an old flannel Allura must have digged up out of a box of stuff I left here when I moved out. Lance and I set out onto the porch and before I can dig up my smokes, Lance pulls out his. I raise my eyebrows up at him.

“Don’t tell Hunk,” he pleads, setting a cigarette between his lips and lighting it before handing it over to me. “I _am_ trying to quit.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.” I promise, exhaling out my nose. Lance turns and pulls himself up onto the railing, wiggling his cigarette between his lips as he considers me for a moment.

“So… How are you managing the pain?”

“Lance.” I say with exasperation, tipping my head back. “Come on.”

“I’m just making sure.” Lance snaps just a little and I scowl up at him. He scowls right back. “This is how it started last time, you got fucked up.”

“This _isn’t_ like last time. I told you, I’m clean, okay?” We stare each other down for a few long seconds, and then Lance looks away and nods faintly.

“So, I don’t know too much about sponsors, but do they usually get invited to slumber parties?” Lance pipes up after a slightly tense silence and I snort, ashing my cigarette. “Or is that just a little Shiro bonus?”

I stay quiet for too long and Lance’s face fucking _lights up_. He punches me in my good shoulder and I resist the urge to shove him off the porch. He grins at me, waggling his eyebrows and all. He’s so fucking expressive, it’s ridiculous. He reads like a kids picture book. I smoke moodily and he kicks me.

“He thinks I’m cute.” I say, pointedly avoiding his eye. “And maybe you were right. Maybe he is my type.”

“He should see an optometrist, for one. Secondly, of course I was right. Are you guys like, making a go of it or?”

“I found out _yesterday_ , Lance.” I say, rolling my eyes and he hums a little, nodding. He ashes his cigarette and we lapse into another silence, this one a little more pleasant than the last. It’s nice to talk to someone other than Allura, Coran and Shiro. I enjoy their company, but all conversations inevitably loop around to what happened, what is happening. Hell rifts and demons and ghouls. Lance is focused in on my love life or lack thereof, but it’s refreshing as much as it is irritating. He means well. Sort of.

“When was the last time you had anything besides a casual encounter?” Lance asks eventually and I decide to indulge him. I leave out the fact that’s been _at least_ a year since I had a one night stand. I genuinely have to strain my memory for my last relationship. I frown and Lance scoffs. “Christ, that long? Please don’t tell me I was your last relationship.”

“We dated for a week in middle school, you ass.” I huff, scratching at my hairline and thinking a little harder. My lifestyle is just not relationship-friendly. I always have to tell so many fucking lies that they end up thinking I’m sleeping around on them and leave. I think my longest relationship was about a month and a half. “Okay, so. It’s been a long time- which is probably even _more_ reason for me to stay the fuck away from Shiro in the long-term. It’ll go bad.”

Lance lets out a long-suffering groan and nearly pitches backwards off the railing. I grab him by the arm of his sweater and yank him forward. He’s unperturbed. “Listen, man. I get that you’re a human disaster and all, but you’re also a good guy.” I pull a face at him. He continues. “I’ve known you since _middle_ _school_ , and we’re still in touch. You made sure of that, even when I moved away to study. You kept in touch. And all the stuff you do for Allura- man, she runs you ragged with helping out with the store and shit, and you keep bitching to a minimum. You’re loyal. Sometimes you’re even fun to be around.”

“Gee, thanks bud.” I say dryly, rolling my eyes. He kicks me again.

“I’m just saying. You might not fuck it up with Shiro in the long run if you give it a shot. I’m not saying go in there and propose to him, just take him on a fucking date some time.” He pauses, considering me. “Maybe when you look less like a corpse.”

“We’ll see what happens.” I eventually concede. It’s the best I can give him.

“Fine. No actively trying to sabotage shit or I’ll kick your ass.”

Lance and I stay out on the porch for a little longer, talking shit. Lance gripes about work and how expensive and exhausting it is to plan a wedding, especially when your fiance is so incredibly fussy about the catering. Lance’s engagement ring catches the light every now and again. It’s a thin white gold band with a small sapphire set into it, pretty and simple. I’m genuinely happy for them. They want an early June wedding, before the summer heat really sets in. I’m his best man, and I really don’t know what that entails but I figure he’ll tell me at some point.

Before Lance leaves, he eats half of the brownies Hunk made for me and makes us watch a documentary about sharks, loudly correcting any facts they got wrong and griping about how they paint sharks like they’re the villains when humans are the ones going into _their_ territory. He’s a marine biologist. He gets passionate. Shiro thinks it’s hilarious and the two of them laughing together makes me feel some kind of peace.

Allura and Coran come home shortly after Lance leaves, and the rest of the evening plays out the way it always has with them, with the addition of Shiro who fits in rather seamlessly. We have dinner together, sit around talking for an hour or so, then I have a cigarette although tonight I have it alone, without someone picking at me with questions. Once I finish my smoke, I don’t feel like watching any more TV, so I slip into the study instead to grab a book and head up to my room.

It’s around the time that everyone is going to bed that Shiro comes up to find me, knocking on the doorframe lightly to get my attention. I blink over at him, my eyes adjusted to the lamp light I’m reading by and not much past that. “Hey, you going to sleep any time soon?”

“I think I’ve slept more than enough lately.” I smile faintly and Shiro nods, still lingering in the doorway. His gaze isn’t settling anywhere. “Not ready to sleep, either?”

“No, not really. Do you mind…?” I shake my head no and Shiro comes in, wandering to the other side of the bed and climbing on, being careful not to disturb me too much. He stretches out on comforter, folding his arms under his head. I fold down the corner of the page I’m on and put my book aside, slumping down beside him. I nudge him with my foot.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah I am. I guess I’m just a little restless,” He admits, turning onto his side to face me. I just admire him for a moment, which I feel more at liberty to do now.

“Me too. I wish I would just heal up already so I could get back to work. Allura probably has a wad of jobs for me.” I had tried asking her about them after dinner but she had waved me off. I worry about my city again and Shiro must sense it or something, because he reaches over to gently brush my hair back from my face. It’s soothing and I lean into it, so he keeps going, combing out a few loose knots. I close my eyes and he strokes his thumb along my cheekbone, down my cheek until I feel him skim the pad of his finger along my bottom lip, just a feather stroke. I open my eyes to look over at him and he meets my gaze with a faint smile. When he swipes his thumb along my lip again, I press a small kiss against it.

I can’t remember the last time I’ve been touched like this. It has happened, but not recently enough for me to remember a name or a face. Shiro must know it, because he’s indulging me in all of it, his finger tracing out the sharp line of my jaw and the column of my neck before pushing back up into my hair. I wish I was able to get closer to him, but my fucking collarbone means I can’t do much at all. At least Shiro doesn’t seem to mind. I do reach up and take his hand, weaving our fingers together. We gaze at each other, and I feel like a teenager again.

“Keith?” I hum quietly, just to let him know I’m listening. “When you told me to bring you to Coran, I thought it might have been because he was some kind of… Healer, or something. But he’s not.” I breathe in slowly, already knowing where he’s headed. “He gave you local anesthetic but nothing else.” I shift and look away. Shiro goes quiet, waiting for me to speak. I keep his hand in mine but look up at the ceiling rather than at him.

“Remember when I told you about the job that went wrong? Then one that made me try to quit?” Shiro hums quietly. I can feel his eyes on me. “I got hurt pretty badly. I was only seventeen and it fucked me up a lot in the head as much as it fucked up my body. I wound up in hospital.” I breathe out sharply, looking at Shiro from the corner of my eye. He’s listening, lying close to me. “After I got out of the hospital, I started self-medicating. I developed a pretty bad oxy habit and that led to… All sorts of substance abuse. Anything I could get my hands on. I was an addict. Coran checked me into a rehab program after I overdosed.”

Shiro swallows hard, squeezing my hand in his and I grind my teeth. It’s old news. It’s been a long time. But the guilt and the shame always manages to drag me under and get caught in my lungs. I ruined what I had by being a stupid kid who couldn’t tell anyone that I needed help.

“When I got out of rehab… I couldn’t stay here anymore, so I moved into my own place. I isolated pretty hard-” I let out a humourless laugh, “I guess I still do. And I won’t take anything now. I… I know how slippery a slope it is for me. Hunk and Lance didn’t ask how we knew each other because they assumed you were a rehab sponsor.” I laugh again, a little less dryly. “A sponsor that Lance was convinced I was sleeping with.”

Shiro laughs a little at that, and I feel him move on the bed. He props himself up on his elbow so that he can look down at me and I don’t want to look at him directly until he makes me which he does, freeing his hand from mine so he can lay it on my cheek. He strokes under my eye carefully. “Thank you for telling me.” He whispers and he makes to lean further forward. I bring my hand up between us, pressing my fingertips to his lips. Confusion flickers over his face.

“If you’re going to kiss me, I’d rather it not… be motivated by sympathy or something.” I explain and his expression softens again. He nods, and kisses my fingertips.

“It’s not sympathy.” Shiro promises, but he lays back down again and lets the moment pass. We lay quietly together and I’m relieved that it’s not uncomfortable.

“Sleep here tonight.” I say eventually, when I feel sleep catching up on me.

“Okay.”

-

I think I’m awake. It’s hard to tell in the dark. I can make out only impressions of the room around me and I think most of it is just what I _know_ is there from memory, not anything I’m really seeing. Shiro lying beside me on the bed I can actually see. He’s close enough and the weak light coming through the windows traces a silver lining along his shoulder and the curve of his thigh. He’s lying on his side, facing me. I want to reach over to touch him but I can’t convince my limbs to move.

There is something wrong in the room.

I can feel it at the foot of the bed and it makes my chest constrict, my ribcage press into my lungs. From somewhere underneath the floorboards, I hear the quiet popping of static, raising up into a tinny whine under my bed. It makes my teeth hurt. The wrongness at the foot of the bed moves towards the windows and I see it like it’s in the corner of my eye, that strange humanoid shade from Shiro’s kitchen. It flickers and shudders in and out of existence and occasionally when the light catches it just right, I see the face of the man in the alleyway I had forgotten about. I see him with his lips peeled back from his teeth. His liquified eyes drop over the folded, contorted skin. I see this all in split seconds, like when you blink rapidly and everything looks like stop-motion. The images changes from shadow to dead man as it twitches and jerks and shudders its way around the bed until it’s standing on Shiro’s side, towering over him.

“ _Don’t._ ” I hiss but my words get trapped in the air and swallowed up. I’m breathing hard through my nose and the static whine is getting louder and louder. It’s making my teeth hurt but I can’t lift my hands to cover my ears. “ _Don’t fucking touch him.”_ My words still don’t make it further than my mouth. They get snatched away. The shade leans over Shiro and I see black drop from the man’s mouth onto Shiro’s cheek, who flinches, but doesn’t wake up.

For some reason, I’m crying. Tears are streaking down from the corner of my eyes, gathering in my hair and on the pillow. “ _Please. Please don’t touch him. Leave him alone_.” I’m pleading now, rather than commanding, but I’m not making a sound. There’s just static shrieking in my ears, worming its way into my head like fucking surround sound. The shade leans down slowly, turning its head to lay cheek to cheek with Shiro. It doesn’t have eyes but it’s watching me. It opens its mouth and there’s a crackling, gurgling, clicking sound coming from its throat like its neck is broken or something.

_Th ir teen will bu rn hi m up_

_Keith_

“Keith!”

I snap awake, jolting upward so fast and hard it shoots pain through my shoulder and across my back. I gasp and fling my good arm out and my wrist is caught. I panic, trying to twist free until Shiro crowds into my line of vision, cupping my cheeks.

“Keith, Keith, it’s okay. It’s me.” He soothes, stroking my cheeks, pushing my hair back. It’s sweat-damp at the roots. I’m breathing fast and shallow. It feels like there’s a hummingbird in my chest, throwing itself at the bars of its cage. Shiro keeps his hands on me, keeps rubbing at my skin. When he has to take one hand off of me to turn on the lamp, he presses his cheek to mine. I blink hard at the sudden light in the room, disorientated and scared. Shiro pulls me to him, pushing my hair back. “Keith, you’re bleeding…” He wipes his fingers over my left ear and they come away bloody. “What happened?”

“I- I don’t…” I frown and press my face hard into Shiro’s shoulder. He rubs at the back of my neck. “I saw something. I saw something. Shiro… Does thirteen mean anything to you?”

“Thirteen?” Shiro sounds confused, his lips against my temple. Before either of us can say anything more, the bedroom door swings open and I look up to see Allura stumbling in, wide eyed. She climbs on the bed behind Shiro, reaching for my face.

“You were screaming into my head, Keith.” She pants slightly, a tremor in her fingers. “What did you see?” She frowns, wiping more blood away from my ears. “What did you see.”

I swallow hard and blink a few times. There are tears stuck to my eyelashes. I remember. I remember everything that happened before I was attacked. I hadn’t even known it was missing.

“I need to talk to Pidge.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, first things first: [A reader drew fanart! I can't believe it! Keith is so t i r ed](https://twitter.com/13particle/status/853311474638483456)  
> I also drew this tired boy: [(x)](http://stickywrites.tumblr.com/post/159659363968/historicalmarinette-have-a-gross-grungy-beat)
> 
> Secondly: I'm sorry if there are typos in this. Like Keith I am functioning on a combination of no sleep/nicotine/caffeine (i don't know how he does it every day. I'm dying). I'm going out of town so I had to power out some things for work, and I wanted to finish this chapter before I went anywhere. I'm going to see my niece (the cutest monster around!) so there will be no time for typing.  
> Which also means the next update will be like, a week or so away. Your patience is appreciated xx 
> 
> Thank you for all the support this fic has received. I'm really pleased with what I'm building, and I'm pleased that y'all are enjoying it!!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr](http://stickywrites.tumblr.com/)

Once I’ve found some more of my composure after my nightmare, I’m able to fill in everyone on what I had been told the night I had been attacked. I sit on my bed with my blanket pulled up around my shoulders and Shiro’s arm protectively over top of it, repeating the words over a few times when Allura asks me to. It’s not like it was a full blown speech, but I think she’s trying to find meaning in them anyway, something beyond the malice. There’s something there.

One thing can be said about demons: they are _vain_. They always have to brag about their plans, which works out in my favor when I can unravel their lame little riddles. Whatever we were dealing with now was smarter than the usual stock, though, and had given me just enough to make me feel useless.

Eventually, I actually feel exhausted again and need to sleep and Allura is going in circles, so we decide to leave it for now. Hand the evidence over to the expert a little later in the morning.

Out of everyone in our ragtag team of freaks, Pidge is the only one with a relatively normal homelife. She’s not an orphan, for one. She has both parents and even a brother. Her family is also full of like, super geniuses qualified to work for NASA ten times over. Pidge finished high school when she was just sixteen. She’s two years into getting her masters in mechanical engineering at twenty-two. She plans to get her PhD after that. On top of it all, she is our loremaster and general fount of knowledge. When she was eighteen she had waltzed into Allura’s shop, leaned out against the counter and asked, “so how about that great big hell rift, huh?”

And that was that. She’s been with us ever since, a surrogate little sister. We found out months after meeting her that she was some form of psychic, similar to Allura but also not at all; Allura sees what is written on the page, where Pidge is able to see what’s hidden between the lines. She sees the truth in things even when no one else does, she can pull up buried memories like loose threads, but she also has the incredible ability to do the same with more than humans. She can lay her hands on a book and pull information in the same way. I still find it hard to let her touch me, even though she’s had complete control of her gift since well before she met me.

Pidge’s family lives deep in the suburbs of Garrison and after I’ve gotten a little more sleep we all get up, get dressed and pile into Coran’s car. I stretch out in the backseat, my feet in Shiro’s lap and my head back against the window. Shiro rubs his hand along my calf and stares out the window pensively. He had held me while I slept after the nightmare, broken collarbone be damned. I needed the comfort and I think he did, too.

The Holt’s lived at the end of a picturesque cul-de-sac in a classic American, two storey home. Coran parks behind Pidge’s brother’s car, a GU parking sticker stuck in one corner of the rear window, faded and peeling with age. Matt answers the door, the four of us crowded onto the porch and he’s unphased to see all of us but one. He raises his eyebrows and his glasses slide down his nose a touch as he stares over my head.

“ _Shiro_? What are you doing here?”

“Matt?” Shiro sounds equally as disbelieving, gently pushing past me to accept the hug Matt’s offering, clapping him on the back a couple times. “Man, I haven’t seen you since what, graduation? A little after that?”

“Too long!” Matt steps back, holding Shiro at arms length to look him over, his grin a little crooked as he runs an appreciative eye over Shiro. It makes me feel some sort of way. “You look good. I heard you got a job out in the city?”

“Yeah, yeah I did.” Shiro smiles easily and I slink back from the scene, turning to face out over the lawn as something new and unpleasant crawls up my throat. I’ve had very few reminders about Shiro’s life outside of the past couple of weeks of knowing him. Work was one thing. A person, a friend, is another. They catch up for a while, until Allura cuts in that we’re all here because we need to talk to Pidge.

“Oh, right. She’s down in the basement.” Matt says with a slight shrug, and he steps aside to let us all into the house. He doesn’t follow us down the hallway to the basement door, knowing better. He knows what his sister does, and he knows what we do. He’s fine with it so long as we never take his sister out into the field, which I would never allow, anyway. She’s twenty-two and her future is brighter than all of this.

Her hovel under the house, however, is not. I frown and grouse as we thump down the stairs into the low-lit basement, the sound of the TV coming up to greet us. The TV is to the side of Pidge’s set up, a large desk covered in three computer monitors and quite a lot of take out wrappers and a stack of plates and bowls she’s yet to take up to the kitchen. Under her desk are stacks and stacks of books ranging from the occult to biology, and there’s another bookshelf equally as packed beside her, none of the books remotely organized. She’s sitting in a plush desk chair, one knee pulled up to her chest as she chews her way through a twizzler and taps at her keyboard. She’s playing some MMORPG, seemingly bored. She’s wearing a big sweater and underwear, and nothing else. Her hair’s gotten longer since I last saw her, brushing her tiny shoulders. I wish it was a surprise to see her spending her day like this, but this is her natural habitat. She doesn’t much like the outdoors. More reason that she’ll never be out in the field.

She obviously hears us coming, pulling her headphones off to rest them around her neck as she twirls her seat around to face us as we reach the bottom of the stairs. She frowns, almost exactly like her brother. If there weren’t a three year difference, you would swear they were twins. “Shiro?”

“Hey, Katie.” Shiro says a little sheepishly, giving her a small wave. She looks from him to the rest of us, heaving a sigh.

“What have you gotten yourself into.” She says, exasperated. She folds her thin arms over her chest and gestures us over with a nod of her head, twirling in her seat again. She taps at her keyboard a few times and exits her game, taking her headphones off and tossing them on her desk. “I’m guessing this has to do with the rift flipping out. There are hotspots all over the city- Keith, don’t even think about lighting that cigarette.”

I huff and tuck the cigarette behind my ear, thoroughly cowed. She hadn’t even looked at me, instead pulling some files up on her monitors and opening them out across all three of them. She tracks the rift activity over the city with something that looks like a heat map, the highest points of activity staining the map red and the places where the rift is completely inactive are green. I squint at the downtown area of the map, tracing streets with my finger until I found the spot where I had been attacked by the ghoul. It’s green.

“Hey, Pidge?” She hums at me, “This is the most recent, right? Can you show me like five days ago?”

“Yeah, sure.” She shrugs and she flicks through the files a few times. On the map from five days ago, the block where I was attacked is an angry red dot, surrounded by green. Pidge pushes her chair over a little, squinting up at the dot and clicking her tongue.

“I got attacked here.” I say, tapping my fingernail against the spot. “And I got given a message, too.”

“A message?” Pidge leans back in her seat, intrigued enough to meet my eye. I shift my weight from one foot to the other and glance up at Shiro. Pidge catches on, turning her chair again to face Shiro. “Figured you weren’t just hanging out with them for shits and giggles.”

“He’s being heavily singled out by a demon, I believe.” Allura supplies, “Keith pulled him out of an apartment building swarming with spirits that were all after him. Neither of us have ever seen anything like it.”

Pidge crosses her legs under herself, pushing her glasses up her nose as she thinks for a moment. There’s something soft in her gaze when it meets Shiro’s. It’s obvious that they know each other, given that Shiro apparently went to school with her brother. This is probably just as personal for her as it is for me. “What was the message you received?”

I lick my lips and lean back against her desk, not meeting anyone’s eye even though they’ve all heard it before. “I was told that _thirteen_ would burn Shiro up, and their children will have this earth again.” I leave out the threats that were made to me. Not important. “I’ve seen the actual entity twice now, the first time in Shiro’s apartment the night I pulled him out and again last night. The message was given to me by something riding a corpse.”

“Thirteen…” Pidge says slowly to herself, chewing on her thumbnail. “Okay, well. It sounds obvious to me that this thing is planning to bring something up through the rift. My best guess as to why Shiro’s being threatened with burning would be that this thing is planning to use him as a doorway. Humans aren’t exactly made to contain that sort of power.”

I frown, scratching at my jawline. It didn’t seem _that_ obvious. “But the rift is already a doorway. They don’t need Shiro. Things come through all the time.”

“Mmm, yeah but it’s sort of random. Sometimes the door is locked, other times it isn’t. They can’t control it- this _thirteen_ must have managed to slip through and now it wants to drag its buddies over as well. And the ‘thirteen’ implies that there are at least twelve more.” Pidge tags on, raising an eyebrow at me. I exhale through my nose and nod. She’s right, of course.

“I saw something strange when I read Shiro.” Allura says after a moment’s silence, catching Pidge’s attention so that she swivels in her chair to face her. “Or rather, it’s what I didn’t see that was strange.” Shiro shifts his weight from foot to foot, folding his arms over his chest. He’s on the other side of Pidge so I can’t easily reach out and comfort him. I give him a delicate smile instead which he returns with a slight twitch at the corners of his lips.

“Can I take a look?” Pidge says with a new level of enthusiasm, actually rubbing her hands together like a cartoon villain. I guess she’s never read Shiro before, but she’s probably wanted to. Shiro looks at me a little more alarmed than before.

“She’s a psychic, sort of like Allura, but her view is a little more… In depth.” I explain lamely, “she’s the most likely to be able to find out what happened to you five years ago. You can say no. It’s entirely your decision.”

“I want to know.” Shiro says with a nod and a glance from me to Pidge. “Please.”

Pidge nods back at him and gets up out of her seat to clear a space on her desk which she then sits on. She gestures for Shiro to take a seat in the desk chair which he does a little gingerly. Pidge pulls the chair closer to her by hooking her feet around the arms of the chair.

“If Allura’s already had a look, then you know how this’ll feel. Weird tugging sensation, all that. You’ll feel me poking around.” She explains and Shiro nods again. I reach over and take his hand, weaving our fingers together both for comfort and as an anchor so he doesn’t get lost in his own head. Pidge rolls her shoulders and reaches to cup his face in her tiny hands, her thumbs against his temples.

Like when Allura did this, there’s not much to see from the outside. Shiro squeezes my hand tighter, and I can see Pidge’s eyes going back and forth under her eyelids, her lips pressing into a hard line. The minutes drag out and when Pidge finally breaks away it’s with a gasp and Allura reaches out to catch her by the shoulders, pulling her close. She soothes her quietly, running a hand through her hair. I do the same for Shiro, who’s looking a little peaky. I scratch through his undercut and kiss the top of his head.

“What did you see?” Allura asks softly. Pidge takes off her glasses, looking up at Allura, her eyebrows knitting together. They share some apparently meaningful look before Pidge raises her hand to Allura’s forehead and I imagine, they share what had been discovered. I cradle Shiro’s head to my stomach and Shiro loops his arms around me loosely, tapping out for the time being. Allura is holding Pidge to her, combing her hair out gently. They’re making me tense the longer they stay silent.

“Pidge.” I cut through the cuddle session, “what did you see?”

Allura gives me a dirty look that I throw right back and Pidge gently pushes away from Allura, letting her know it’s okay.

“I saw something I’ve seen before.” She says cryptically and I swallow down a flicker of frustration that this is the way she wants to play it. It’s bad. It’s going to be _bad_ . I think I’ve known it was going to be bad from the moment Allura told me that all she heard beyond Garrison in Shiro’s head was _static._ I curl my fingers into Shiro’s short hair and keep him close to me. “He died. Five years ago, Shiro died.”

I don’t know how to ingest that information. Shiro, warm, breathing, alive- Shiro, right here in my arms- had died, five years ago. I almost expect him to fall to ash against me now that it’s exposed. He doesn’t. He’s frozen against me, only a tremor in his shoulders giving away his reaction. I don’t know what to do.

“You said you’ve seen this before?” I ask, feeling numb. Ask the question, do your job, find the cause. Kill the cause. I stare over at Pidge, waiting. She shifts slightly, but does me the favor of holding my gaze.

“You died, too. When you were five years old, you were killed.”

This time, the world falls out from under me and I wonder if this is how Shiro feels right now, too. My hand in Shiro’s hair goes limp and I frown. I shake my head. “No.” I say eventually. “No, I still have memories. I remember things from before then, if I had died I wouldn’t have those memories, right?”

“Do you? Do you really remember?” Pidge asks gently. Allura isn’t looking at me. Has she known this whole time? I look over at Coran, who has been silently observing since we arrived here. He looks grave but otherwise unreadable. I turn away from them all, letting go of Shiro. I have the memories of a kid under five. Impressions. Vague feelings. Nothing solid. Shiro reaches out for me, catching my wrist to pull me back to him, rubbing his fingers over my pulse. “Do you remember your mother’s face, outside of photos? Her voice?”

“Don’t-” I breathe out hard, shaking my head. I don’t need convincing, as much as I wish I did. “Don’t.” I say again and Shiro holds my hand tight but I can’t bear to see his expression right now, so I don’t look at him. “This is why he and I are seers, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Allura eventually replies, wringing her wrists. “You died, and you left this plane. When you came back, part of where you went came back with you. You were able to see past this plane.”

“I wasn’t born this way.”

“No.” Allura says softly, and when I pull away from Shiro again and leave the basement, no one stops me and no one follows me.

I stumble out onto the porch, and fuck it, I don’t care- I pull my arm out of the sling and shove the cigarette from behind my ear between my lips and light it. I see how much smoke I can get into my lungs before they feel like they’re going to burst and then hold it for a few seconds too long, coughing out the exhale.

I had died. I know exactly when and where and why I had died.

I had always thought it was strange that the car crash that had killed my parents hadn’t killed me.

It had.

I had come back.

My parents had not. I don’t feel lucky. I had come back an orphan and with an ability that had rendered my life irrevocably fucked. Foster homes and therapists and an expulsion from school. A drug habit that had turned into a near-pack-a-day smoking habit. Less social skills than a toddler and an endless amount of lies being fed to the few people I have that I love.

Not lucky.

I’m standing on the porch in the cold, alone, shaking from a mess of emotions that I have no intention of trying to straighten out. I just let myself feel them, all of them, until I’m so overwhelmed I just shut down entirely. Go numb. I finish my cigarette and hear the front door open behind me and I already know it’s Shiro so I don’t tell him to go away.

God knows how he feels- he’s lost twenty-one years. Here I am, nearly crying over five.

“You shouldn’t have your arm out of its sling.” He says with a touch of concern and I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment. He drags his hand lightly over my back as he rounds me, like he’s approaching an animal he’s worried is going to kick if he startles it, and then he gently takes my left wrist and eases it back into the sling hanging lamely from my neck. When he cups my cheeks I let him, looking up to him and my despondency is probably all over my face. Whatever Shiro is feeling, he’s masking it under a thick layer of concern, searching my face for something- I don’t know what. It’s pretty much all out there. But the way he strokes my cheeks is nice and when he pulls me closer I let him, leaning my weight into his chest and he holds me like he had in the early hours of the morning. “Keith…”

“I can’t talk about it here.” I croak, freeing myself enough to meet his eye again. “I’m sorry- I’m sorry if you need to talk, but I… can’t. Here. On Pidge’s front lawn.” I snort humorlessly and Shiro gives me a lopsided smile.

“It’s okay. You’re the only person I want to talk to about it and… I don’t know if I’m ready yet, anyway.” Shiro admits and he leans down to kiss the crown of my head softly. There’s nothing else I need from Pidge so I stay out on the porch with Shiro and wait for Allura and Coran to come up. I can’t help but feel cold towards them both, because anything Allura knows Coran knows, too, and they had both kept this from me. Good intentions be damned, they had kept this all from me.

The drive back to Allura’s is quiet. When we get there, Shiro collects the things he had brought over and then he drives us both back to my apartment. Before we’d left I’d asked Allura about any jobs and she had told me outright that she wasn’t going to give me any until I was in better shape. It was a fair call, but it was just another spark threatening to start a forest fire in me. Allura’s house had suddenly felt claustrophobic.

My apartment was almost exactly how I’d left it about a week ago, my bed in slight disarray from Shiro using it, the thick blanket I was using thrown over the back of the couch. The ashtray on the coffee table was still choked with cigarette butts and there is an empty mug next to it. All of my drawers were shut properly which was evidence of Shiro having gone through them to get me changes of clothes.

“Do you want a coffee?” Shiro asks, snapping me out of my introspect and I nod, moving to sit down on the couch but getting immediately up again to grab the ashtray and empty it out into the bin under the kitchen sink. Shiro takes it from me to rinse it out properly before handing it back. I stand in the kitchen with the discolored glass ashtray in my hand, watching Shiro’s back as he makes coffee for us.

“Are you okay?” I ask, because he’s said about ten words since we left the Holt’s house and I have a feeling that despite his steadiness, Shiro’s about to implode. He stops what he’s doing, resting the heel of his hands against the edge of the counter and leaning all of his weight into them as he sighs. I watch his back muscles shift under his t-shirt as he hangs his head.

“I don’t remember dying. I don’t even remember anything that might have led up to it.” He says slowly, tapping his nails against the counter. “How can I forget something like that, on top of everything else?”

I exhale shakily, rubbing my hand up his back and pressing my weight against him. I don’t know how to comfort him, I only know that I can relate. “I know how I died, but I don’t _remember_ it, either. I just know there was a car accident when I was five that killed my parents. It makes sense that… it killed me too, I guess. But I don’t remember it actually happening.”

“I just can’t wrap my head around this.” Shiro confesses with a weak laugh. “Ghouls, poltergeists, some… thing wanting to use me as a VIP doorway for its friends in Hell. Sure. But, dying and coming back? How does that happen? _Why_?”

That makes something click in my head. I pause, blinking out into my apartment. _Why_. I slowly peel off of Shiro, pacing out into the room with a faint frown as I think. I hear Shiro take a few hesitant steps after me, stopping when he sees that I’m not upset.

What are the chances of all of this, really. Shiro and I both having died and come back to life, years apart, and then coming together now. What are the chances that this happened to Shiro and now he’s got a demon with a fucking hard-on for him making plans to punch a hole through him to let its asshole friends through onto this plane. They have to be related events.

But why Shiro.

I personally could think of a hundred reasons as to why he’s special, but from an unbiased point of view, he is an average guy. Before his death, maybe there was something about him that caught the demon’s attention, but his memories were gone now, so who knew? If it were so remarkable, surely it would have survived.

And then there was the question of _me_ . Why had _I_ come back? I didn’t appear to have a role to play in any of this except for relaying a message from this asshole and, maybe, hopefully, being Shiro’s savior.

I stop walking, staring at the carpet in the space between my feet. There’s a stain hidden slightly under my right foot which I think is soda but might be coffee. Maybe really old blood. I scrub the heel of my hand into my eye and heave a sigh.

“Keith? What’s wrong?” Shiro stands in front of me, one hand on my good shoulder as he ducks into my line of sight.

“Sorry,” I say, absently, shaking my head. “I was just thinking, probably about something that’s already occurred to you. There’s no way that the fact that you died upon arrival in Garrison and this demon coming for you are two separate events. Whatever its got planned for you has been in the works for years now. It needed you to die. It needed you to come back able to see…” I trail off, the gears in my head turning but not bringing anything up. I’ve said it before: I’m not the brains of the operation. I’m the brawn. I don’t know enough about any of this to come to a conclusion about it. “And then I have to wonder why I’m here.”

“Do you think that whatever’s after me is the thing that brought me back?” Shiro asks and I bite the inside of my cheek. Shiro frowns, something like panic flickering behind his eyes. “If we stop this demon will I die again? Like I was meant to?”

The thought turns my blood to ice. I honestly don’t know, but if there’s a possibility that saving Shiro will kill him then I’m at a loss as to how to go forward. If I do nothing, he’ll die. If I do something, he might die anyway. I’ve never run away from a fight before, but suddenly it’s looking like a fantastic option. I could just take him and _run_. We could run all over the country if that’s what it took. Keep him away from rift activity. Keep him safe.

I don’t want Shiro to go.

I don’t want him to leave me yet.

“I don’t know.” I finally say, and my voice is thick and betrays everything I’m feeling right now. I squeeze my eyes shut and Shiro lays his hands on my cheeks which is a touch I’m already so familiar with. “I don’t know what will happen. I don’t know.” I keep saying, like I’m only just now realizing how completely _useless_ I am in this situation. I don’t know what the _fuck_ to do. Today is fucking kicking my ass when I was really hoping to be the one who kept it together. Just for once. Shiro still has his hands on my face, is holding my firmly where I stand just with the touch.

“Keith.” He cuts through the noise in my head and I remember that I need to breathe, inhaling deeply. I had been on the verge of a panic attack. “Just relax. Relax.”

“I’m sorry.” I say as I lean into his touch. Grounding. Breathe. Shiro pulls me to him gently, cradling my head against his chest and I hate myself a little for always ending up like this.

“No, I’m sorry. We don’t know enough for me to be making any sort of assumptions. I know basically nothing about any of this- so, let’s just take it one day at a time. Deal with the problem immediately in front of us.” Shiro says into my hair, his hand rubbing at the spot on my back that hadn’t been mauled. One day at a time. I can deal with that.

“Okay.” I agree and Shiro releases me, letting me take a step back before stopping me again. I frown and he smiles.

“Problem number one.” His smile gets a little wider, and then he leans down and kisses me. His lips are so soft compared to mine, which are always some degree of dry and chapped. He kisses me gently, his thumb dragging along my jawline. He kisses me like I’m something precious. I actually flutter my fucking eyelashes as he pulls away, looking up at him with a touch of confusion.

“That was a problem?” I ask with a little laugh.

“The problem was how badly I’ve wanted to do that. It was starting to get distracting.” He confesses. He grins and steps into my space, gathering my hair up off my neck in a loose ponytail. “I don’t know if I made it better or worse.”

“... Better.” I decide after a moment and Shiro kisses me again, cupping the back of my head as he does. I’m long out of practice, but I’m pretty sure this is the best fucking kiss _ever_ , with Shiro’s languid pace where feather-light strokes turn into the gentle parting of lips. He pulls on my bottom lip playfully, then swipes his tongue along it which makes me part my lips further. Shiro kisses me fucking _breathless_ , holding me close against him as he does, his fingers curled tightly into my hair.

When he pulls away I can’t help but chase. He stops me short with the hand in my hair and I’m forced to slow down and catch my breath. Shiro’s lips are red and there’s a slight flush along his cheekbones. I can only imagine how I look. Probably not nearly as composed, as per usual. He lets my hair fall back down over my neck and presses his forehead to mine, smiling easily.

“You know,” He says and I hum to acknowledge him, “when this is all over, I’d kinda like to take you out.”

“Does ghost hunting count as a date? That’s about all I have time for.” I manage to speak without stammering but the tips of my ears are on _fire_. Shiro just fucking asked me out and I’m short-circuiting. Shiro laughs and scrunches his mouth up to one side.

“If it does then I guess we’ve already had our first date. Where would you rank it?”

I exaggerate my hum of thought. “Top five.”

“How many dates have you had?”

“Around five.” I grin widely and Shiro rolls his eyes and kisses me again, and for now I can let some things slip to the back of my mind, just focus on Shiro’s hands on my waist and the way his mouth moves against mine. When he takes a step back I let him take me with him and I laugh into his mouth when he clips his leg on the corner of the coffee table. Still, he gently pulls me down into his lap once he hits the couch. He gives me time to get comfortable, idly pressing kisses against my jaw and my neck as I settle in a way that doesn’t pull my stitches. Once I’m comfortable I seek out his mouth again, and we make out on the couch like dumb teenagers for a long time. I run my hand through his undercut and Shiro slides his hands up the back of my t-shirt to trace patterns along the skin that isn’t bandaged. His hands are warm and soft, only a few callouses on the pads of his fingers. I memorize these little details that make up Shiro and I think he might be doing the same with me.

“You have a lot of scars.” He murmurs into the hinge of my jaw, his fingers walking along my back and side, mapping out all the little trophies my job has earned me over the years. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised, hm?”

“Comes with the job.” I say with a lazy grin, pressing kisses along his hairline. “I even have a couple teeth missing.”

“Jesus.” Shiro breathes, and when he lifts his head I open my mouth as wide as I can trying to show him. It just makes him laugh and clamp his hand over my mouth until I close it again, pulling a face when I lick his palm and yanking his hand away again. He wipes it off on my jeans, giving my thigh a squeeze. I’m nothing if not gross and effective.

Gross or otherwise, Shiro takes a moment to admire me, pushing my hair back from my face and leaning in to kiss me again. Just a feather brush over my lips before he noses his way under my jaw and starts a slow, open-mouthed trail down the column of my neck. I let out a sigh, lolling my head back as he laves his tongue over the hollow of my throat.

When he starts unbuttoning my shirt to get at more skin, I let him. I comb my fingers through his hair and let out a soft whine when he sucks gently at the raise of my good collarbone, popping blood vessels to leave a cherry-red mark in his wake. He pushes my open shirt aside, the fabric slipping off my good shoulder and even though he’s seen me almost completely naked at this point this still feels like the most exposed I’ve ever been around him. I’m mildly horrified to find out right now that when I blush hard enough, it goes right down to my chest. Shiro just gives me a soft smile and kisses down my sternum.

My injuries prove to be a logistical problem with Shiro’s slow exploration of my body, my stitches pulling when he tips me back too far in his lap, making me wince and suck in a breath. So eventually Shiro wraps his arms around me and lifts me with him when he gets off the couch. He carries me over to the bed, sitting me down while he arranges the pillows so I can lay back comfortably and I can’t help but laugh. He seems to get it.

“What?”

“This is a lot of work just to get laid.” I tease, my tongue between my teeth. I watch Shiro crawl up over me with a wolfish grin, the movement predatory and fucking _hot_. And then he kisses me on the tip of the nose, undercutting it all and I snort.

“Who says you’re getting laid?” I narrow my eyes on him, slinging my arm around his neck to tug him down while I slide my knee up between his thighs. He twitches an eyebrow up, tilting his head to one side as if he’s considering his options. It feels so fucking good to be so… playful. I run my hand down the back of his shirt and his skin is so soft and smooth it kind of amazes me. It frequently escapes my mind that in his regular life he’s a research analyst and probably spends a lot of time sitting at a computer. Hard work but not physical work.

Shiro makes his decision and breaks me out of my thought with a kiss more feral than the last and I return it in kind, pressing my nails into his skin as I yank him down onto me to give as good as I get. I slide my knee up a little further between his legs and I feel him cant his hips back just an inch which makes me smirk. It’ll be nice to see Shiro’s composure crumble while he’s on top of me.

Shiro starts his trail down my body over again with the same incredible level of patience as before, making sure to kiss every inch of skin that takes his fancy, dragging his tongue over my nipples and running his teeth over the ridges of my ribcage. He leaves another bright red mark in the hollow of my hip, his breath tickling the sensitive skin which makes me giggle and squirm. He laughs against me and with a feather-light stroke of his fingertips makes me giggle all over again. Shiro grins up at me, his eyetooth catching his bottom lip.

“You’re cute.” He says and I try for indignant but probably fail miserably. Shiro idly unbuttons my jeans and tugs the zip as he speaks. “From the moment I saw you in that alleyway I thought you were cute. Tough, but cute.”

I hate the way my breath shudders as I watch him take his time, talking conversationally about his first impressions of me as he pulls my jeans and boxer down over my hips. I’m at his mercy and he fucking knows it, sitting up to pull my jeans off entirely and toss them over the side of the bed. My blush doubles its efforts to cover the entirety of my chest as I watch Shiro watch me, his dark eyes dragging from my bony ankles to my bruised knees and up the length of my thighs, to my cock heavy and hard against my stomach.

He’s going to eat me alive. It’s all I can think in the face of his wolfish grin and the fingers that he walks up my to the top of my thigh. I lick my lips and reach for him, dragging Shiro back up to me so I can kiss him hard, sinking my teeth into his kiss-bruised bottom lip and then fucking my tongue into his mouth. I fist my hand into the back of his shirt and he rolls his hips down against mine. The friction makes me gasp, my hips bucking forward of their own volition and Shiro ducks his head to maul my neck, dragging his teeth over the skin and then soothing it with his tongue and his lips. The hand in the back of his shirt slides up into his hair instead and I roll my hips up against him experimentally, slowly, to find just enough friction that I don’t completely lose my mind but it still feels fucking _good_. I moan against Shiro’s ear and he pulls up abruptly.

Apparently the moan was all it took. He pulls his shirt off up over his head and tosses it aside and I reach down to help him with his jeans. With the zip undone I slide my hand over the fabric of his boxers, my mouth running dry when I feel his cock twitch at the attention.

 _Christ_ , no wonder Shiro has such confidence. I bite my lip and grind the heel of my hand against him and Shiro groans lowly, from the back of his throat. I keep him pinned like that for as long as he’ll let me, stroking him through his underwear slowly, watching the way his expression softens, his brow creasing and his mouth falling open around soft little noises that I fucking love.

When Shiro takes my wrist and guides my hand away I let him, but only so he can climb off the bed and slide his jeans down, kicking them off before climbing back to where I can appreciate him up close. He must work out- he’s not bulky, but under tanned skin are firm muscles that I can trace with my fingers.

“You’re incredible.” I murmur as I splay my fingers out over his chest, feeling his heartbeat that’s steady as a drum and strong. Alive. “God, look at you.”

“I played a lot of sports in high school,” He says with a laugh, then he frowns. “Apparently. I just kept up the fitness afterwards.”

“I’m not complaining.” I grin, rolling his nipple between my fingers gently just to make him twitch. He narrows his eyes and catches me in a kiss, taking me by the wrist again and bringing my arm up to pin against the pillow beside my head.

When he slides down between my legs I behave and keep my hand where it is, curling my fingers into the pillowcase while Shiro pushes my thighs apart and mouths messily at the soft skin of my inner thigh. I keen and press my knee into his side right around the time he presses his mouth to the base of my cock and sucks, and I watch with rapt attention as he drags his tongue right up to the head. His dark eyes meet mine and the lust I can see in them makes something hot coil in the pit of my stomach. He keeps his eyes on me as he parts his lips against the tip of my cock and slowly draws me into his mouth. I have to squeeze my eyes shut so I don’t fucking lose it just at the sight of him, exhaling shakily. His mouth is hot and he knows what he’s doing with his tongue, pressing the tip into sensitive spots that make me whine and buck my hips before I can stop myself. His hands are firm on my hips to take care of that for me.

Shiro does everything with the utmost patience which burns through mine like a forest fire. I’ve never had my dick sucked so fucking thoroughly. Shiro’s pace is slow, his cheeks hollowed around me as he works his way right down to the base, nuzzling into the dark curls there while I try not to completely fucking unravel. I shove my hand into his hair and curl my toes into the sheets.

“Shiro- _Shiro-_ ” I sound _pathetic_ , but I tug at his hair insistently until he pulls off with a ludicrous _pop,_ and he looks up at me with his lips red and glossy, his cheeks flushed a matching shade. I breathe out slowly and loosen my grip on his hair. “Don’t wanna cum like that.” I explain and he slides one hand down my thigh before coming to lean over me again, kissing my cheek with that pretty mouth.

“Okay, baby.” He breathes into my ear and I shudder. He gives me a little time to cool down, feeding me lazy kisses. I reach down and curl my fingers around the waistband of Shiro’s boxers, tugging them down past his hips and I hear the little sigh of relief when his cock bounces free from the fabric. “Got stuff?” He murmurs and I nod enthusiastically.

“Top drawer- towards the back.” I tell him, my hand slowly stroking his rather incredible dick as he leans over to the dresser and pulls the drawer open, rummaging through my underwear for the half-empty bottle of lube and the handful of condoms I had grabbed last time I was in a doctor’s office. Shiro drops the things on the bed beside us before sitting back between my legs, rubbing a soothing hand up my thigh.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Nothing hurts.” I smile, drawing my knees up a little further to test if that was the truth. Nothing pulls. Shiro bobs his head down and kisses the top of my knee which is one of the most endearing things I’ve ever seen, and then reaches over me to grab the spare pillow. I get what he’s planning to do and lift my hips up off the mattress so he can slide it under me. Shiro grabs the bottle of lube, popping the cap. He raises an eyebrow as he notes that the bottle is almost empty, and I flick my gaze to the side and grumble to myself. Shiro snorts as he brushes my thighs further apart before slicking two fingers. He looks to me for assurance and I nod again, closing my eyes and making myself relax with a slow exhale.

The brush of Shiro’s fingertips over my entrance makes me jump slightly- the lube is cold which makes him murmur an apology that I wave off. He rubs a fingertip against me in small circles, waiting for me to relax enough that he can press the tip of one finger into me. My body doesn’t give immediately, tensing around the intrusion so Shiro runs a soothing hand up my side and waits for me to unwind.

Once the first finger is inside me, I open up. It’s been a fucking _long time_ and my body wants this just as much as _I_ do. I want Shiro fucking _badly_ . Whatever is about to happen in our lives, I don’t want to regret how we spent our time together before it all. Shiro kisses along my belly and chest as he thrust the first finger, groaning softly at the feel of me around him and I’m right there with him, groaning at how fucking good he feels inside me. With the second finger, I breathe out Shiro’s name and arch underneath him, rolling my hips back onto him. He curls his fingers and after a few thrusts finds the right angle and I’m seeing _stars_ , tossing my head back with a hoarse moan at the sudden burst of pleasure that Shiro doesn’t let me come down from, thrusting right into my sweet spot until I can’t fucking see straight. I dig my nails into his shoulder and pull insistently until he’s close enough for me to kiss with no grace at all. It’s sloppy and fucked out. He just lets me ride his fingers for a while, my hips snapped back until he shifts the angle and denies me. I whine like a damn brat and bite into his bottom lip only to be rewarded with a third finger sliding into me. My complaints hitch in my throat and Shiro talks me through the adjustment, whispering for me to relax, for me to breathe, and then he’s fucking me with his fingers again and I press my knees hard into his sides and just try to last.

“Okay, enough, _please_.” I pant and Shiro listens, easing his fingers out of me, sitting up enough to see what he’s doing as he reaches for the condom and tears it open.

Shiro fucks me the same way he kisses me; like I’m something precious to him. He holds my thigh against his side, his hand on the swell of my ass while the other keeps him braced above me. His thrusts are slow and purposeful, so I fucking _know_ that he’s avoiding my sweet spot, teasing me until I’m ready to beg for him to give me what I want. I sink my teeth into my bottom lip and try to keep my stubbornness intact, but Shiro is murmuring all shades of sweet and filth into my ear while he fucks me deep and good and I’m losing my mind a little bit, panting against his cheek.

“Shiro, _please_.” I say and he doesn’t change his pace even a little, not even a fucking falter. I whine and dig my nails in his shoulder, rocking my hips back against him at a demanding pace that makes him moan lowly, a sound that I’m pretty determined to hear again and again. “Make me come.”

The sudden snap of his hips makes me cry out under him, and Shiro takes the chance to adjust his grip on me, letting go of my thigh in favor of grabbing my wrist and pinning it above my head while he drags his lips along my jaw and comes to kiss me, his dark eyes meeting mine and within a few strokes he’s found the fucking _perfect_ angle and I feel his cock slide against my prostate. My vision goes fucking blank and Shiro swallows my moan whole with a hard, hungry kiss that I only have half the mind to return because he won’t let me come down; he hits my sweet spot over and over until I can barely keep up with his thrusts, my legs looped loosely around his waist and I wriggle my hand under his grip so I can twine our fingers together. He squeezes my hand and for just a moment the kiss is something tender, and then he fucks me harder and everything about him becomes an act of ravaging me. I don’t stand a chance, and when I come it’s with a shameless cry of Shiro’s name and a tremor that runs from head to toe. I feel his hips stutter against me and the way Shiro presses his face against my shoulder tells me he’s right on the edge. I squeeze my thighs around him tighter and roll my hips back against him unevenly until he’s panting against my skin and I hear the soft chanting of my name that keeps my head up in the clouds. When he comes he tenses against me, still fucking slamming into me to ride it out and I really am just hanging on at this point. He doesn’t drop his weight onto me, keeping himself propped up on one elbow until he’s caught his breathe enough to function. He pulls out with a soft grunt and drops down beside me, pushing his hair back from his face.

“Christ.” I breathe after a moment of just lying in the afterglow. Shiro smiles at me, looking wonderfully fucked out, a pale flush still in his cheeks. He rolls onto his side to kiss me and I stroke his cheek with fingers that still have a faint tremor in them. I don’t know what else to say when he pulls back so we just lie together, touching wherever we can.

Shiro gets up to clean himself up and bless him for not bothering to put any clothes on as he walks around my apartment like he owns it. He tosses a cloth at me and I wipe away the mess on my stomach, sitting up carefully and biting back the groan of discomfort. Shiro knows me well enough to bring me my cigarettes with a glass of water, which I gulp down before lighting a smoke. I’m pretty exhausted but I’m also fucking hungry so I get up, tugging on a pair of boxers.

We sit on my bed together eating the shitty microwave meals I bought forever ago with plastic forks and Shiro makes me laugh as he tells me about his worst date ever which had ended with the guy getting picked up by his mother, who then told Shiro there wouldn’t be a second date. I strain my memory for my worst date ever and settle with telling him about the time me and Lance as dumb middle-schoolers sat in a movie theatre holding hands and blushing furiously the whole time.

Shiro cleans up afterwards and I flop back down onto my arrangement of pillows, ready to pass out. It’s only mid-afternoon, but time is a fucking illusion or whatever. Shiro crawls in beside me, kissing my shoulder and laying his arm over me. I weave our fingers together on my stomach and we fall asleep like that, my forehead turned against Shiro’s cheek. I can feel him breathing. It’s nice. It's damn near perfect.

I would kill for even one more day like this.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some easy listenin' for this chapter: [(x)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BhQD8e60ja4/)
> 
> my guys you would not believe all the things that have gotten in the way of me writing this chapter!! I got the damn flu while I was on holiday and i literally slept for two days straight! And then I got home and I had to move into a new apartment all by myself, with work on top of that. Hoooooo boy. But we got there! And this chapter has it all!  
> Drama, sex and a heavy dose of foreshadowing.
> 
> Comment, kudos, let me hear your thoughts! :*


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what's this?? a new chapter already??  
> i basically had a bad day so i immediately decided i was just going to sit in my apartment all day and write out this chapter because tbh, i had it written out in my head already anyway!
> 
> e n j o y : ^ )

I get woken up by Trooper’s _Raise A Little Hell_ and the novelty of my ringtone is wearing off real quick. I let the call drop because there’s no way I’m opening my eyes let alone getting out of bed when Shiro is pressed up against me, his head on my shoulder. The room goes quiet and I settle back into sleep with my nose buried in Shiro’s hair.

And then my text notification goes off. And then another, and another, until there is a steady stream of texts coming in, making the notification sound layer over itself until it’s too grating to ignore. I groan and crack one eye open, squinting into the lowlight of the room. We’ve been asleep for a while; it’s dark out save for the orange lights of the city. My phone is a square of blue light on the kitchen counter, still being flooded with texts. _Fine_. I’ll at least get up to put it on silent. I kiss Shiro’s hair and climb out of bed as carefully as I can so that he doesn’t wake up and then I pad across the room to snatch my phone up off the counter.

“ _Fuck_ -!” I hiss and drop my phone, shaking my hand to try and cool down the burn. The back of my phone is fucking white-hot, I’m surprised it isn’t melting. It hits the carpet with a thud and I stare down at it with pure contempt as that awful, tinny whine of static that’s been haunting me for a week now starts up out of the phone’s speakers. The screen flickers and distorts around the stack of text notifications and the static arches up sharply to a deafening volume. I stumble back and clasp my hands over my ears. From the corner of my eye I can see Shiro sit up in bed, disorientated at first until he sees me and jumps up, wincing at the grating sound filling the room.

“What is that?” He asks once I’m close enough to hear him and I gesture down to my phone. As I do, the static whine starts to wind down again until it’s just a faint hiss. I scowl and drop my hands slowly while Shiro kneels down and picks the phone up. I guess it’s cooled down enough to be handled. He taps at the screen, scrolling through the texts. “These are all from Allura.”

He passes me the phone when I stick my hand out for it, and I unlock the screen to go through them all. He’s right. They are all from Allura, about twenty text messages and every single one of them is filled with jobs for me. Ghouls, ghosts, goblins. A fucking _kelpie_ and an infestation of kappas followed by a banshee. Every job is different, except for one aspect.

They’re all based in Arus.

Shiro reads over my shoulder, his eyebrows raised as I look up at him. Nothing about this is right. Allura _never_ texts me job details, and even if she did, she had told me outright that I was on forced vacation until I was healed up. The texts aren’t even written in her style. There is a complete absence of emojis, for one.

“This looks like a trap.” Shiro says what we’re both thinking as I scroll back up through the messages. They’re all in the exact same format with only minimal changes made in the details.

“It’s most definitely a trap.” I agree, staring up at him again. He holds my gaze for a drawn out moment, his mouth twisting to one side in a tense, crooked smile.

“You know if you go, I’m coming with you.” I open my mouth to protest and he shakes his head. “I mean it. Last time I stayed behind you nearly died. We’ll be better as a team.”

I bite the inside of my cheek as I think. It would be a bad idea to go to Arus. This is an obvious set up. Something is luring me out there and I’m pretty fucking sure of what it is. I should really be piling Shiro into my truck and going the complete opposite direction. Find a safe room and lock him in or crawl back into bed, get more sleep, wait until I’m healed up enough to fight and then go dig my nails into this. I could do any of these things and they would be the smart thing to do. The best decision. The safe option.

I’ve never gone with the safe option in my life. I have a tendency to close my eyes and jump, hoping for the best. Shiro trusts me enough to jump with me.

“You might have to fight. You might have to kill things.” I tell him, remembering his face when he told me he had killed that ghoul, the faint horror that lingered there. Unease creeps over his face for a moment before he straps it down.

“If I don’t fight they’ll kill me, right?” I look away from him, rubbing at my forehead. God. The crush of guilt is fucking _overwhelming_ in this moment. I’m going to ruin him. He’s going to break. He’ll have to fight and kill and those are things I’ll never be able to undo. It’ll take pieces of him away until he’s like me. “Keith?”

“Okay.” I sigh, “you’re coming with me, but only engage if you absolutely have to, okay? I don’t…”

“Don’t what?” Shiro catches my chin, forcing me to look up at him, my expression tight. “Keith. We’re doing this together, _as a team._ I’m not going to hide behind you, whether you like it or not. You’re injured. You can’t do this alone.” That bruises my ego just a little, but he’s also right. As tough and as experienced as I am, if there really is twenty different types of evil waiting for us in Arus, I’ll be severely outmatched. Shiro sees the resignation in my face and leans in to kiss my ego better.

I get dressed and Shiro helps me put my hair up into a ponytail, getting as much of it out of my face as possible. My favorite knife is somewhere in a dark alleyway in south-west Garrison so I settle for the one taped to the underside of my coffee table. It’s a little lighter and doesn’t feel quite right in my hand, but it’s still going to be effective. I yank open the linen closet and start digging through all the crap I’ve crammed in there over the years until I find a shoebox, pulling it free with a little noise of triumph. Shiro leans over my shoulder to inspect its contents when I pull the lid off. It’s a messy collection of weapons and also the sheath for the knife. At the bottom is a handgun in a holster and a box of ammunition. I wonder if Shiro’s ever seen a real gun before. I dig up a switchblade and toss it up at him and he catches it on reflex, turning it over in his hand before flicking it open. He startles like he didn’t expect it and I can’t help but smile. It’s kinda cute, somehow. And then a little worrisome.

“You keep all this in with your towels?”

“My apartment is short on storage, if you didn’t notice.” I say with a shrug, counting out the little vials of holy water that are amongst it all. It’s cliche as all hell, but the stuff does actually work on some things. Slows ‘em down at least. Like a stun gun.

I think through the list of things that might be waiting for me in Arus and dig around until I find the lame little letter opener I have in here- it’s a small, mostly blunt blade but it’s gold plated and that’s all you need to take down things like a banshee, and it might be pretty enough to tempt a kelpie into leaving me the fuck alone. You never know. Doesn’t hurt to be prepared. I set everything aside and reach back into the closet, right to the back where I pull out an old, solid wooden baseball bat that I’ve had on me ever since I started living alone. Basic home invasion survival, right? I hand it over to Shiro and he seems to appreciate it, shifting his grab over the cloth wrapping the handle, feeling the weight of it. Like my knife, his old bat is as good as lost because you would have to drag me kicking and screaming back into that fucking alleyway.

I divvy up the vials of holy water between me and Shiro; three each, and holster the gun to my hip and the knife to the small of my back. The weight of it there is comforting. I feel more like myself than I have in a long time. Shiro won’t let me take my arm out of my sling so I only shove one arm into my coat and let the over sleeve dangle lamely at my side with a fair amount of complaint. Once I’m done though, I finish arming myself, sliding the gold letter opener into the inside pocket of my coat. Not for the first time, I lament the fact that I had to use that holy cloth on a pack of ghouls. It had cost me two months rent. Luckily my landlord always goes easy on me.

Shiro tucks the switchblade into his hip pocket and slips the vials into his hoodie pocket. He watches me with a great deal of fascination and I throw him a little crooked grin. “What?”

“I don’t know. It’s just… You look very much in your element right now. It’s kind of hot.” I snort at that and roll my eyes.

“Try not to get too distracted. We can play around with that little tidbit _after_ we take care of this.”

“Are we ready to go then?” Shiro asks, picking his bat up off the bed and twirling it which is also kinda hot. I’m guessing baseball was one of his sports of choice when he was younger. “I’m driving.”

“Uh,” I pat my pockets as I think, and there’s one more thing that I think to grab that might come in handy. I head into the kitchen and dig under the sink for the clunky old toolbox that’s been there since before I moved in. I rummage through the old heavy tools until I find what I’m looking for. I have no fucking idea why there are flares in here but I assume the toolbox was in the back of a car in its previous life. I shoved the flares into the inside pocket of my coat and get up. “Okay. We’re good to go.”

It’s just past nine o’clock when we pile into the truck, Shiro behind the wheel because I can’t drive without him fussing about my arm being out of its sling. I set up the GPS on my phone and place it in the cupholder so Shiro can see it if the vocal directions aren’t making a tonne of sense. It’s a pretty straight forward drive, though. Getting onto the highway is the biggest obstacle. It’s a two hour drive to Arus which leaves a lot of time to think, so I distract myself instead. I count how many bullets I grabbed and I double check the gun’s clip. I inspect the weapon to make sure it’s not going to jam or something. I can fully reload at least twice with how much ammo I have in my pockets although ideally I won’t have to fire a single round. Fat chance. There’s a great big cloud of foreboding washing over me as I watch the signs that line the highway light up when the headlights catch on them. Despite the pedantic checking of my weapons, I can’t stop my mind from wandering.

What if Shiro was right. What if, when I deport this demon back to hell, it takes Shiro’s life with it.

What if I lose him right after getting him?

Shiro must sense my anxiety because he reaches over and rests his hand on my knee, stroking with his thumb in little circles. I think back to our last trip to Arus where I felt considerably less… terrified. To think that was only, what? Eight or nine days ago? It feels like it’s been months. Shiro and I had snapped together so quickly, weeks of emotion swelling between us in only hours, days.

I wonder if we were drawn to one another because we both recognized that we were missing something even if we didn’t know it on a conscious level. Chunks of our lives taken away so we scrabbled to be together to try and fill in the gaps. Hold each other together so the cracks didn’t spread.

Maybe I’m just letting my imagination run wild. I need to focus in on the job at hand because I really don’t know what to expect in Arus; I need to be on my toes. I need a game plan. I don’t even know where we need to go although I have a feeling we’ll be shown the way by whatever is calling us out here. Thirteen. This might be it.

“Hey,” Shiro squeezes my knee gently and I blink over at him. I’d been staring out the window, looking at but not seeing the passing scenery, which isn’t much at this time of night anyway. “I can practically see the smoke coming out of your ears.”

“Sorry,” I shake my head like I can shake out the stray thoughts. “Just thinking.”

“I can see that.” Shiro says good-naturedly, smiling at me that gentle way that he does. He’s so gentle. I squeeze my eyes shut and clamp down on the guilt spiral before it can start. It’ll just make me stupid. “You should text Allura and tell her where we’re going, just in case we do run into trouble. I think we’ll be okay though, really.”

I probably should tell someone where we’re going, but I’d rather not send out the bat signal until I really need to, partially because Allura will eat me alive for breaking her rules and chasing after this, and also I’m still feeling the burn of her betrayal. But I’m a fucking professional, I’ve got this. I’ve been taking down the boogeymen of Garrison for nearly ten years. “Yeah, I think so, too.”

-

The wrongness that is covering Arus is obvious from the moment we pull off the highway and onto the exit for it. It’s like a thick fog in the air, a blanket of dread over the entire town. There’s no lights on, not even street lamps because the power only comes on during tourist hours like it’ll discourage vandals or something, nevermind that even on a normal day this place has _seriously_ bad vibes. I don’t have to be a psychic to pick those up. Shiro takes his hand off my knee to have both hands on the steering wheel, and he slows the truck down a little as we pass the the shiny, tourist-y “Welcome To Arus” sign at the entrance of the city that gives instructions to the information centre. I point it out to Shiro.

“We should head there. There’ll be maps of the town. I have a feeling that my phone isn’t going to be useful in a bit, we’ll lose the GPS.” Shiro looks over at me with a furrow in his brow and nods, reaching over to close google maps to save battery power. The screen is already flickering around the edges and it doesn’t respond immediately to Shiro’s touch. I bite down on the feeling of dread and yank the glove compartment open to dig through the crap in there to find the flashlight right at the back. It’s old as fuck and the light is weak. I’ll have to raid the information centre for a replacement, but that’s okay. I doubt anyone will miss it and it won’t be my first B&E. I grab my lock picking kit from the glove compartment as well and slip it into my coat pocket.

Arus is laid out in a grid formation which makes it easy to find the street where the old town hall has been converted into a slightly more modern building, less worn out than the rest but keeping to the aesthetic of the place. Shiro parks right outside of the building and I pop the catch on my knife as I jump down onto the old, cracked sidewalk. I turn my flashlight on, smacking it against my thigh a few times until the beam steadies, cutting through the gloom. Shiro has his baseball bat in hand, coming up beside me, covering me as I hurry up the steps and set about picking the lock. It doesn’t take long because the security isn’t all the tight around here. The door swings open and I grope along the wall hoping to find a light switch but find nothing instead. I guess they’re towards the back of the building or something, where only staff can get to them.

The forefront of the hall is a gift shop, full of all the usual crappy souvenirs. Keychains and t-shirts, books on the history of the place. Postcards with glossy old sepia-toned photos of the town in its heyday. Shiro keeps close to me as I sweep the room with my flashlight, creeping forward towards the information desk. There’s a little rack of maps on the counter and I immediately pocket one and so does Shiro and then I ungracefully vault over the desk, landing badly but not enough to do any real damage.

“What are you doing?” Shiro asks and I can only vaguely make him out. I crouch down, rummaging under the counter.

“Looking for another flashlight. This one’s dying.” I explain and I can’t help but whisper, like people tend to do when they’re in a dark and quiet place. I yank a drawer open and throw aside anything useless which is its entire contents in the end. I don’t find a flashlight and I let out a huff of frustration, sitting back with my legs tucked under me. Shiro comes around the counter to stand beside me while I shine the light around the back wall. There’s a door with a ‘staff only’ sign on it and I take off towards it, Shiro in tow. I try the handle and it gives, the door swinging open. I find a lightswitch but nothing happens when I flick it on. Not having a lot of luck here. Dread lies heavy in the pit of my stomach.

“Here.” I pass Shiro my phone and he turns the light on a little reluctantly. It chews through the battery pretty quick and he’s very concious of that. We search fast because of it, pulling open the staff lockers against the far wall and when that turns up nothing I go through the desk to the right of the door. “Thank _fuck_.” I breathe when I finally find one, shiny new, the beam strong. Shiro immediately turns off the phone light and hands it back to me. I search around for spare batteries but we’re not that lucky. I think it’ll last.

“We should go. Probably not a good idea to stay in one place for too long.” I agree with Shiro and he grabs me by the upper arm to help me to my feet and again he guards while I lead, keeping the torch low so the light doesn’t catch in the windows of the building. No need to draw unwanted attention. As we approach the door I nod for Shiro to follow me as I press myself against the wall beside it. I pause to think. Shining a flashlight out into the street will be a big bright beacon for anything nearby but I don’t have much of an option. If there’s something out there we need to see it coming.

“Okay. You’re on flashlight duty because we might both need to fight. I’m sure we’ve attracted _something_ by now.” I whisper to Shiro and he nods, taking the flashlight from my hand so I can take out my knife- the gun is way too fucking noisy. I’m not going to entertain the idea of using it unless absolutely necessary. Shiro trades places with me, standing next to the threshold. He takes a cautious step forward and then freezes immediately. I bump into him, frowning. “What?”

“Can you hear that?” He murmurs over his shoulder and I step forward, around him to peer out onto the street. I strain to hear past the low thrumming the adrenaline is causing. Oh.

From somewhere in the dark I can hear a faint but heart-wrenching sobbing. Shiro presses up behind me, close enough that I can hear his breathing and we stand silently for what feels like far too long. The crying doesn’t stop, but there’s something that doesn’t sit right with me.

“There’s no one else out here,” I breathe, mostly to myself as I try to think. “Sure as fuck no one came all the way out here just to cry.”

“What if they’re hurt?”

“She. It’s a woman.” I point out to him and I think a gun or a knife is the wrong weapon. “Or at least it sounds like one.”

“Sounds like one?” Shiro asks and I remind myself that he’s in the middle of a crash course with the supernatural. I turn to rest my back against the wall, letting the knife dangle at my side.

“One of the texts mentioned a banshee. I’ve had limited experiences with them before, but one of their tactics for luring victims in is taking on the form of an upset young woman. It’s pretty damn effective.”

“Yeah.” Shiro says a little sheepishly, well aware that he was about to fall for it hook line and sinker. It’s not his fault that he has a fucking heart of gold. “What do we do?”

“It sounds pretty far away. If we keep our distance and don’t disturb it, it won’t do anything. They’re passive aggressive.” I say, trying to get Shiro to laugh. It sort of works but he’s highly on edge and I don’t blame him. I shove my knife into my hoodie pocket so I can offer him some comfort, rubbing my hand down his arm. “It’s okay. Let’s go.”

We book it to the truck, hopping up into our seats and locking the doors behind us. Shiro sits his bat in between his seat and the centre console and turns the ignition.

The truck doesn’t start. I squeeze my eyes shut and curse, leaning forward to thunk my head against the dash. Shiro lets out a sharp breath and tries to turn the engine over again and it barely even rumbles. No fucking luck tonight. None. Shiro keeps trying until I reach over and grab his wrist, shaking my head.

“You’ll flood it. Let it sit.” I say as calmly as I can and Shiro drops his hand away from the keys. “We need the truck to get out of here. We’re better off going on foot for now, we can’t just sit.”

“Where are we going?” Shiro asks, sitting back and rubbing a hand down his face. I scratch at my jawline and squint out into the dark and I already know the answer. My gut is telling me where we need to go and I wish for once I could just ignore my goddamn instincts.

“Red Mansion.” I say reluctantly. “If we get back onto the main road it’s a straight line to the other side of town.” Shiro digs the map up out of his pocket and opens it out against the steering wheel. It’s a clean and easy path on paper. I’ve been to Red Mansion plenty of times before. I lean over to squint at the map, trailing my finger along the path of the river to the west of us. “No matter what, we avoid the water.”

“Why?”

“There are too many things that could be in there that I can’t fight. Kelpies can’t easily be reasoned with. They’ll drown you with vigor.” Shiro’s expression tightens and he nods.

Shiro folds the map away and shoves it back into his pocket and we climb out of the truck, leaving the keys in the ignition to avoid any useless, panicky fumbling if we need to haul ass out of here quick. We make ourselves walk rather than run, stepping lightly so we can hear anything that might come our way. Shiro keeps the flashlight directed ahead of us, following the sidewalk. Every now and again a pitch of static arches from my back pocket where I had shoved my phone. Every time it adds another knot of tension to my shoulders. The more noise it makes, the more I think I can hear a faint, gurgling laughter underneath it. I can see Shiro’s knuckles turn white as he grips his bat tighter. We pass a narrow street and I hear something scrabbling on a rooftop. There’s the sound of something shattering on the ground and I shove Shiro forward hard and we hurry our steps until we’re well clear of it. I’m fucking _singing_ with tension, adrenaline coursing through me with nowhere to go.

“What was that?” Shiro asks quietly and I shake my head at him.

“I don’t know.” I whisper back and my phone crackles away in my back pocket. I want to fucking throw the thing into the pitch but I know I’ll regret it massively later. I shift my grip on my knife and I walk out onto the middle of the road so there there’s some distance between us and the buildings, the corners where we won’t be able to see what’s waiting for us around them.

“I can see why you hate this place now.” Shiro murmurs and I manage to give him a smile.

“I found out faeries were real out here.”

“Faeries are real?” Shiro raises his eyebrows, and I kinda love that he’s consistently amazed by the things he discovers.

“Yeah, and they’re a pain in the ass. I tend to leave them alone, though. They’ve been here a hell of a lot longer than we have, so really we’re the intruders. They’re not like demons or spirits. They belong on this plane.” Shiro hums quietly and seems to ingest that bit of information well. Good for him. My brave boy.

We walk another block undisturbed and the casual talking has snapped some of the tension so that we’re not jumping at the sound of our own footfalls, but like I’ve been saying; this is _not_ our lucky night.

Behind us, we hear the scraping of nails over the asphalt. Close. Ten feet, maybe. I look back over my shoulder, and I see the ghoul that’s stalking us, it’s long limbs moving in awkward, wide strides. Its tongue lolls out of its mouth, lapping at its own chin and dragging over its long, sharp teeth. I’d rather not take it on out in the open where it has room to move freely. Narrow spaces are better where the only place it has to go is up, because they’re bad climbers. The ghoul doesn’t give me much of a choice though, snapping its jaws at me as it picks up its pace, its strange body contorting, back arching high as it breaks into a run.

“Move!” I shout and Shiro doesn’t need to be told twice. We fucking book it up the road, the flashlight’s beam swinging as Shiro sprints, a couple of feet in front of me. “Hang a left!”

We skid around the corner, down into another narrow street and I hear the ghoul throw itself into a side of a building in an attempt to redirect itself in a rush. It gives us time to put a little more distance between us but we can’t just keep running from it. My stitches are fucking screaming for one, my bad shoulder aching from being thrown as I run. We keep going though, blood rushing in my ears so I can barely hear where the thing is behind us. I look behind me and my blood runs cold when I can’t see it.

I can’t fucking see it. I whip around, still stumbling forward as quickly as I can as I try to see into the dark. “Shiro!” I call and he turns around, swinging the light from one side of the street to the other.

“Where’d it go?”

“I don’t know.” I pant, pushing my hair off my forehead. We’ve come to a stop, standing in the middle of the cobblestone street on high alert but a flashlight isn’t enough light for this. Fuck Arus. I see a flicker of movement to my left and I swing around to try and pin it down.

Not a-fucking-gain. The ghoul lunges out of the dark, Shiro’s flashlight catching it about two seconds before it throws its weight into me and like _fuck_ I’m letting this happen all over again. I curl my legs up and rabbit kick the fucker in the gut, sending it backwards with a grating squeal. Shiro is right there with me, abandoning the flashlight so he can have both hands on the bat as he swings it hard at the ghoul’s head. He catches it across the chest instead and it crumbles down onto its back. I jump up and throw myself forward, slamming my knife down into its temple, sinking it down right to the hilt. The ghoul’s limbs flail and one of its claws catches Shiro on the leg, but it’s only a surface wound. There’s one final gurgle which sends a rancid gush of breath into my face and then it goes still. Dead. I roll off of it, yanking my knife out of the ghoul’s skull. The blade comes out black with bits of grey brain matter and I grouse, trying to find something to wipe it off on.

“You okay?” Shiro swallows, picking the flashlight back up and turning it on me to check me over. I shake my knife off like it’ll do any good and lean back on my hand, catching my breath.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Thanks.” I grin at him a little. “You okay? It got you.”

“It’s just a scratch.” Shiro assures me and then he hauls me to my feet, brushing my cheek with his thumb just to double check on me. “Do you think there’s more of them?”

“Bound to be, but they hunt alone so the nest might not be anywhere near here.” I take a final, deep breath and my body settles down a little more. My heart stops rabbiting so hard and my lungs stop trying to desperately inflate. Thankfully it takes more than a solitary ghoul to rattle me. “Come on. Let’s keep going.”

“Keith.”

The way he says my name makes me freeze. He’s looking past me, up the street the way we came. A muscle slides in his jaw and my body resists every tiny movement I make to try and turn around to see what has him so incredibly spooked. I understand immediately.

At the mouth of the street in the dark are a pair of red eyes, so intense they seem to glow in their sockets. They’re watching us intently and I would know what it was if I was blind. There is a hellhound pacing up the street from us, its coarse black fur giving way to show blood-red underneath it, like the creature as a body that’s burning.

Three hellhounds I’ve now seen.

That’s a death sentence.

“Shiro. Give me the the flashlight, take out the map.” He does as I say and I hold the light up enough that he can see what he’s doing as he unfolds the paper. “Is there a church in this shithole?”

“Uhh,” Shiro frowns, obviously struggling to focus as he traces the lines of the streets. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s about three blocks from here. East. We don’t have to go back onto the main road.”

“Thank fuck. We need to get to hallowed ground. _Now_.”

Shiro stares hard at the map for a moment, memorizing our path and then he abandons it and takes the flashlight from me. We run. I hear the hound howl and it sounds _human_ behind us and there’s the clacking of nails moving fast on brick and I’m scared. Oh, fuck, I’m so fucking _scared_.

We run. It’s adrenaline alone that keeps me going. My shoulder is _throbbing_ and my stitches are pulling across my shoulders and my hips. I’m pretty sure they’re popping, tearing. Ignore it. Clamp it down. Get Shiro somewhere safe.

Keep him safe.

It’s not my lucky night.

We turn the last corner onto a dead-end street and I can see the church at the end of it, the damaged steeple and the lame little gate barring off the yard in front of it.

There’s a second hellhound pacing just outside of it, its teeth bared at us and Shiro catches me by the back of my coat to bring me to a halt. I nearly fall on my ass but he keeps me up, pulls me back against his chest. His heart is hammering as hard as mine, I can feel it. We stare forward at the beast, and I can never get used to how fucking huge these things are. They come up to my waist, easy, and that’s not measuring from the head. Saliva drips from the hound’s lolling tongue, from its long canine teeth. Suddenly, it throws its head back and sounds out a long, chilling howl and I whip around to face the way we came. The first hellhound steps out onto the street behind us, blocking us in. There’s a tremor in my hands and I squeeze the handle of my knife, before realizing that it’s a fucking useless weapon. I don’t want to be close enough to a hellhound to use a knife ever, so I shove it back into its sheath and take out the gun instead. Shiro only has a bat and a switchblade.

Keep him safe.

Think of a plan. Do your job.

I watch the first hellhound as it wanders at a leisurely pace, loping up onto the sidewalk and Shiro pulls me back, keeps distance between us and the hound. They’re blocking us off from the church. I watch as the hound trots around to meet its mate and they snap their jaws at one another, snarling until one establishes dominance over the other.

“What do we do?” Shiro breathes against my ear and my brain is working double-time trying to think of a plan.

“Is there a graveyard nearby?” I ask hopefully, not taking my eyes off the hounds.

“Behind the church.” Shiro murmurs. Of course. I let out a slow breath and try to think.

It’s not hellhounds that are after Shiro, that’s for sure. It’s not how they operate in the least and in fact they have full rights to be on this plane, since they serve numerous purposes for both sides of the coin, so to speak. They don’t need to break through the rift. They’re here to herd us.

“Stay close to me.” I tell Shiro, pressing back against him so he walks with me as I move back up the way we came. The hellhounds take a few steps forward as well, maintaining their distance but their menace is palpable. My phone starts screaming in my back pocket and I wince but like fuck I’m going to do something dumb like try and cover my ears. I just keep walking backwards, Shiro falling into a steady pace behind me, keeping watch over his shoulder. We pass the street we had come down. The hounds huff out hard, their breath misting the air in front of their snouts. The further we walk the more agitated the hounds get, curling their lips back to expose their teeth, their heads down low as they stalk after us. Their hackles raise and I’m starting to look around for an exit strategy. I just need to get distance between them and Shiro. Keep him safe. Get him in the truck. Get him the fuck out of Arus. Doesn’t matter if I’m with him or not.

There’s an alleyway up ahead of us that I can just make out over Shiro’s shoulder. It cuts through to the next street over, a block from the main road. The hounds start snapping their jaws at us, snarling and barking, the sound low and guttural. They’re coming towards us fast and I hear Shiro stumble a little as he walks faster. I don’t. I stop.

“Keith, what are you-”

“Shiro, I need you to run. Go down that alley and fucking run. It should you get back towards the main road.” I try to speak calmly and clearly, adjusting my grip on the gun and bringing it in front of me so he won’t see the tremor in my hand.

“I’m not _leaving_ you here!” He protest and I snap at him without turning around.

“Shiro, all you have is a _fucking bat_. I have the gun. I’ll keep them busy, now fucking RUN!” I listen for Shiro’s hesitant steps and then he seems to make up his mind and takes off. The hounds bark and snap at each other and then at me and I raise the gun and fire twice. I hit one in the shoulder and it lets out a whine that sound way too fucking human for my liking. I book it after Shiro, who’s already turned down the alleyway, out of sight. The hounds are so fucking close to me I can feel their breath hot on the back of my legs. I can hear the clack of their teeth coming together as they try to take a bite out of me. I fire blindly over my shoulder a couple more times and whether I hit something or not I don’t wait around to check.

I turn down the alley so fast I nearly eat shit on the concrete and then I run smack right into Shiro, grabbing at the back of his hoodie to keep my balance.

“What the fuck, I told you run!” I rail, shaking him hard, shoving him, but he won’t budge. “ _Shiro!_ ”

Something is fucking wrong. I keep shaking him, getting no response. When I look over my shoulder, the two hellhounds are standing in the mouth of the alleyway. One drips blood onto the brick but doesn’t seem all too fussed by its injuries.

Did I play right into their hand?

I want to fucking cry, the panic crashing over me hard. I whip around Shiro, shoving the gun into my hoodie pocket to grab him by the shoulder and try to tug. He won’t fucking move. He’s just standing there, staring forward listlessly. I check him over for injuries, patting him down, but I don’t find anything besides the cut on his leg from the ghoul. What the fuck.

_What the fuck._

“Shiro. Shiro, _please_ ,” I’m begging him now, tugging on his hoodie, pressing my forehead to his chest. “Please. Please. I’m sorry I brought you here. I’m so fucking sorry. Please. Please move. I’ll take you home. I’ll take you home and keep you safe just _please fucking move._ ”

The only thing I can hear in this fucking alleyway is the static whine coming from my phone. I’m so fucking used to it by now it’s just background noise. Like the traffic I hear from my apartment.

I stand pressed against Shiro, biting hard into my bottom lip, trying not to cry. He moves and something dislodges from my chest and I step back quick and look up at him, but my smile immediately drops.

Shiro is still staring off listlessly and he walks in a strange, clumsy way, his hands limp at his sides. He drops the bat and flashlight and keeps walking forward.

“Stop- stop stop _stop-_ ” I grab at him, I pull on him as hard as I can, yanking his arm back but he just shrugs me off like I’m nothing. I push my shoulder into his chest and put all my weight into keeping him where he is and he lifts his arm slowly, sliding it between us, and pushes me aside hard enough that I stumble. I fall back, looking at the hounds and then to the other end of the alleyway.

 _No_. no no no no no.

Barely lit by the flashlight is that strange, flickering shadow that I saw in my nightmare. It stands dead in the centre of the alleyway mouth and Shiro is staggering towards it.

“Don’t you fucking touch him!” I scream and I take off, but I don’t make it more than a foot forward when I feel the unmistakable agony of teeth sinking into the meat of my leg. The hound rips me off of my feet and I hit the ground hard, twisting around onto my back to kick out at it, slamming the heel of my boot into its head and its shoulder but it doesn’t care, sinking its teeth deep into my calf and I bite down hard on a hoarse cry of pain. I’m screaming every variation of ‘ _get the fuck off me_ ’ I can think of, flailing desperately, kicking out hard and fumbling at my hoodie to find the fucking gun, all while trying to crane my head back enough to see what’s happening to Shiro. I need to get to him.

Time feels like it slows down so much it nearly stops.

Shiro is standing at the end of the alleyway, swaying slightly on his feet, his head tipped to one side and slumped down. It’s like he’s sleep walking. I’m screaming the damn place down and he’s not even flinching let alone looking back or trying to help. Why did I bring him here. Why did I do this.

The flicker of the silhouette catches my attention and I double the efforts of my screaming, but like when I was dreaming my words get swallowed up into the air, don’t make a sound. The silhouette shivers and jerks forward, towards Shiro. I watch it raise its arms, curling them around Shiro’s waist. It rests its head on his shoulder and even with no face I _know_ it’s fucking watching me, grinning at me. I can’t breathe. I dig my fingers into the fabric of my hoodie and gape helplessly as the silhouette presses itself harder against Shiro, squeezing him in its arms until its form shudders and I watch in horror as it presses its entire existence into Shiro. It doesn’t disappear. It gets… absorbed into him. I’ve never seen anything like it.

I dig my hand into my hoodie pocket and fumble with the gun, my hand shaking violently as I set my finger against the trigger and aim it right at the hound’s head. The crack is fucking deafening but the hound goes down hard and fast, releasing my leg. I kick it away from me and scramble up onto my feet, hissing in pain when I put even the slightest weight on my left leg. Strap it down. Deal with it later. My entire left side is in agony.

I limp down the alley as fast as I can, grabbing onto Shiro again, fisting my hand into the front of his hoodie, staring up at his blank expression.

“Shiro? Shiro?” I shake him and he blinks down at me and foolishly, hope crests in my chest. I lick my lips, looking him over frantically and I nearly jump out of skin when he suddenly coughs. “Shiro…?”

He coughs again, more violently and I cup his cheek in my hand, leaning up. There’s something black staining the seam of his lips and I’m starting to panic more and more. I’m going to get fucking hysterical soon. He coughs again, hacking, leaning into me and I’m dumb enough to mistake it for a conscious decision on his part. He rolls his head back and coughs right in my face, a spray of black spluttering out over me. I gasp and stumble back, stunned.

Shiro starts walking forward again, brushing past me like I’m nothing. Whatever is on my face starts to sting and I wipe my face off on the sleeve of my coat. The hellhound is still down and I can’t fucking see the second one.

A bullet won’t kill it but it’ll slow it down. I run after Shiro and try again to stop him as he staggers out onto the main road, weaving and tripping over his feet, but carrying on anyway. I throw my weight into him again, bracing my shoulder against him and digging in my heels, the gravel crunching under my boots. He slows down a little, but keeps walking forward. I slam into him and he brings his hand up and places it heavily on the back of my head, and then he curls his fingers into my hair and yanks me right off my feet by it. I’m too fucking stunned to scream at how badly it hurts, staring at Shiro’s face for the split second before I’m sent flying, reeling to the side. I can’t see anything, cracking my head off the sidewalk as I land hard and roll to a stop against the front of a building. I groan lowly and it doesn’t come close to expressing how much pain I’m in right now. My vision is blurred and I blink hard a few times, staring out into the street. I can see, vaguely, Shiro as he walks away, completely unphased.

I can’t get up.

I can’t follow him.

I close my eyes and the world goes black.

I don’t know how long I’m out for, lying on the sidewalk in the cold. Long enough that the blood on my face is dry and when I frown I can feel it crack and flake off. I don’t want to open my eyes, reality right now is too fucking terrible. I lost Shiro. I promised to keep him safe. I fucked up.

I curl up on myself a little more, pressing my face into my arm and then my phone rings. _Raise A Little Hell_ blares at me from my back pocket and I’m going to change that damn ringtone as soon as I can. I slip my arm out of my sling and dig into my back pocket for my phone, squinting at the bright screen. Pidge. I answer it, laying the phone against my ear.

“Keith, I found some things out-”

“This isn’t a great time.” I slur slightly, blinking owlishly to get my eyes to focus and adjust.

“It’s _important_.” Pidge huffs down the line and I groan as I roll onto my stomach, pushing myself up onto my arm.

“Well then I’ll fucking call you back, okay? Give me fifteen fucking minutes.” I snap and I jab at my screen until the call cuts out and I shove it into my coat pocket. The static’s stopped. Whatever. I fall right back down onto my knees when I try to put weight on my left leg. It’s still bleeding, my jeans torn around the bite which I can’t see clearly at all. At least my leg isn’t broken. I breathe as deeply and as slowly as I can, and try again. It’s slow going with me having to limp, but I make my way back towards the alleyway to retrieve the flashlight, aiming it down the alley. The hellhound I shot is gone, leaving a pool of blood in its wake but nothing more. I keep a hand on the wall to support myself and limp my way through out onto the opposite street. Get to the church.

The church gate creaks open easily and I don’t bother to shut it behind me, instead I drag myself up the stairs and wedge the flashlight between my cheek and my shoulder. My ears are ringing. I drop my lock picking kit twice before I can get my hands still enough to jimmy the lock, shouldering the door open and stumbling into the church’s narthex and through into the sanctuary so I can drop myself down into a pew.

Don’t think about it. Don’t get slowed down by guilt. Strap it down. Call Pidge.

“That was fucking rude.” Pidge says down the line when she picks up and I try not to snap at her. I breathe out hard.

“Not really in the mood, Pidge. What’s up?”

“I figured it out. I figured out who thirteen is.” She says and I can hear the excitement bubbling up in her. I have to admit at this point, I don’t really care. I just want to find Shiro and get the hell out of Arus. But I let her talk because it keeps me out of my own head. “Okay. Are you familiar with the book of Enoch?”

I frown at my phone. She has to know I’m not. “No.”

“Okay, well, it’s basically a spin-off from the bible, but rather than being the words of God, it’s considered to be the word of Man, so basically every single Judeo-Christian religion completely discounts it and, like, I don’t blame them. Man is a pretty unreliable narrator, but this guy Enoch was onto it. He didn’t get all the details right, but he got enough that I was able to figure out the rest.”

I decide that I want to hear the long version. I make a little noise of acknowledgement, and Pidge barrels on.

“Okay, so the book of Enoch is actually five different books all piled into one document, but the only one that applies to our little sitch is the first book, the book of the Watchers and even _more_ specifically, the section called Sin of The Angels. It’s the story of the two hundred angels that fell from Heaven after corrupting humans. The book of Enoch gets a little wobbly on the details but I’m like, ninety-nine percent sure I have it right now.” She takes a breath and waits for dramatic effect. I can’t help but smile a little because it’s like a breathe of fresh air in this all around fucking horrific situation.  

“Okay?” I entertain her.

“So angels exist in a hierarchy, and the Watchers are pretty low on it. They observe Man from Heaven, just kinda chilling out and watching us figure shit out. Anyway. While they were watching us way back when, we humans started breeding and the Watchers pretty quickly realized that human women are fucking hot. They fell in love with them, or in lust if you want to be finicky, and- _led by twenty_ , two hundred angels descended to Earth to wed and mate with human women. They also taught them a whole bunch of cool shit like astronomy, but the big issue was that when these human women bore these angel’s children, they turned out to be literal giants. Or, as they’re more commonly known, the Nephilim.”

“... Their children.” I murmur and Pidge makes an excited little noise that I’m catching on.

“Mmmhmm. So the sons of God and the daughters of Man made these huge, hungry giants that proceeded to wipe out all of the food on earth and then they turned to cannibalism. The surviving humans pleaded to God to help them, and He actually answered for once. He ordered that the Nephilim fight each other to death while the angels watched and then he called upon the great flood to wipe out the surviving Nephilim. This is where Enoch didn’t get things quite right. In the book it says that the angels were cast down into the earth, buried under the hills to wait for judgement day, but that’s not quite how it happened.”

“Right, because they’re coming up through the rift.” I shift in my uncomfortable seat and try to keep my grunts of pain to a minimal. “They’re coming from Hell.”

“Clever boy. And who rules of Hell? None other than God’s favorite, the morning star Lucifer, who had observed all of these shenanigans from the comfort of his own home. When he caught word of God’s plan to seal the angels up in the earth, he tugged on his dad’s heartstrings and struck a deal with him. He said, let me bring the angels down to chill out with me in Hell so I don’t have to be alone, these _are_ my brothers and all, and in return I’ll make sure they never see the light of day again. They’ll be under lock and key! And, again because God has a total soft spot for his wayward kid, he agreed. Two hundred angels were cast down into Hell to keep Lucifer company until the end of days.”

“Except not, because they’re now trying to claw their way out. Does that mean that Lucifer is breaking his promise?”

“Ehh, he’s actually pretty true to his word. A good businessman, or whatever, but he also doesn’t have eyes everywhere. I’m guessing the angels got fed up with all the fire and brimstone and decided to make a break for it. They only needed one to get out so that the rest could follow.”

“And they’re probably all pretty pissed off that Man is responsible for their children being murdered and them being cast into Hell with the bad egg sibling.” I say dryly, stretching my bad leg out carefully. “ _Their children will have this earth again_.”

“That’s right.”

“But wait. That message- it refers to them in the third person, like it isn’t one of them.”

“Gold star. I’m not sure what the fuck that’s about, to be honest.” I grit my teeth and recall Shiro, swaying on his feet in the alleyway. No. Pay attention. Know your enemy. “Probably just a lackey, honestly. Some demon that they let in on the deal. They’re fucking with you, Keith.”

“Who’s thirteen?” I ask, ignoring that last bit because I fucking _know that_ **_now_ ** _._ Get to the nitty gritty.

“Okay, well, like I said there were twenty leaders that led the angels down to Earth. They all have names and shit, and _almost_ every single one of them is recognized as being canon and all that. The only one who has a lot of people up in arms is the thirteenth Watcher. In most versions of the Book of Enoch, he’s left off the list because some shit got lost in translation, I guess, but when he _is_ named, he is called Bezaliel. It means Shadow of God, and that’s honestly all the information there is out there about him. I couldn’t pull up anything more.”

“Bezaliel.” I repeat slowly, gritting my teeth around the name. _Bezaliel._ So this is the bastard who tore Shiro’s life apart. Well, I’m about to fucking ruin his. “How do I kill him.”

“Uhh, angels can’t just be killed. You have to have a very specific blade that we measly humans just… Don’t have. It’s divine. Only angels wield them. But what you _can_ do, is throw him back into the rift. He’ll get sucked back down into Hell.”

“Okay. Fine. I can do that.” Pidge is quiet for a little too long and I hear her sigh down the line. I bite my lip. “What?”

“The moment you throw him back down into the rift, it’ll… kind of become a black hole. The breach will start collapsing in on itself and…”

“It’ll take whatever’s around it with it.” I say flatly, tipping my head up to stare up at the ceiling. There’s water damage in the nearest corner. The only way I can stop Bezaliel will almost definitely end in my death, unless I get real clever, real quick.

Do I even feel like saving my own life? I just want to get Shiro out of here.

“Keith?” Pidge says softly down the line. I sigh and close my eyes. I’m sore and I’m exhausted. “Are you going to do something stupid?”

“Yeah... Yeah, probably.”

“Should I like, be telling you I love you and stuff? That you’re like a big brother to me and thanks to you I’ve gotten to explore all sorts of weird shit in the past few years?”

She’s going to make me fucking _cry_. Whether she knows I’m already in the belly of the beast or not, she knows I’m not going to stop long enough to try and figure out a way to out dance this Bezaliel motherfucker. I bark a laugh for her anyway. It makes my throat hurt.

“I love you too, kid. Sorry we don’t get to just have normal hangouts very often. Next time I see you, I’ll treat you to ice cream or whatever it is you kids enjoy these days.”

“... Please try and come home.” She says after a long pause and I sniff hard, squeeze my eyes shut. I can hear the waver in her voice. “And bring Shiro back with you, okay? He’s really nice and he’ll do you a lot of good. So- both of you, come home.”

I swallow down hard and blink back the tears threatening to fall. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll bring him home, Pidge. Katie. I gotta go now.”

“Give ‘em hell, Keith.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr](http://stickywrites.tumblr.com/)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm......... sorry for this

It’s nearly three in the morning when Pidge hangs up. I was out for a  _ long time _ which means I don’t have any time to cry right now, no time to sink into a depression and become immobile. I need to get to my truck so I can patch up my leg and if I can get it to start then that’ll get me to Red Mansion that much quicker because I know that’s where Shiro is.

I really hope that Bezaliel was sincere about wanting to have me watch whatever he’s going to do, because then I stand a chance of Shiro still being alive and I can do whatever rash shit that’ll come to mind once I’m there. Something tells me it’ll involve throwing myself into a breach in the rift with a fallen angel in my arms. At least it’s a romantic end to my weird fucking life, I guess. It’ll be worth it if it means Shiro will go free.   
I throw the sling off from around my neck and shrug into my coat properly. I’m pretty sure my collarbone has already been rebroken at this point and there’s blood soaking through the bandages around my shoulder. I’ve cracked at least two ribs from when whatever the fuck’s riding Shiro threw me across the street like I was nothing. I don’t linger on the thought. My body is fucked so I figure  _ He _ can’t get pissy at me when I let out a stream of curses as I get up to my feet, gripping tight to the back of the pew in front of me as I find my balance. If I put most of my weight into my right leg and walk on the ball of my left foot, it doesn’t hurt as bad. I can hear the fracture in my collarbone grind against itself when I move. I feel along my ribs, hissing out a breathe when I find the space where one is sunken in. The two underneath it are cracked but nowhere near as bad. My face is stiff with blood that had poured down from an angry gash along my hairline, caking in my eyebrows. All I can smell is copper. My nose had been bleeding, too. I’m amazed it isn’t broken.

I stagger over to the wide, shallow bowl of holy water near the door of the sanctuary. It’s full, not stagnant, so I guess someone refreshes it regularly. I glance upwards and give an apologetic smile to the ceiling, and then I cup freezing water in my hands and wash my face off as thoroughly as I can. It leaves the water tainted pink, but I feel a little better. More awake. I go back to pick up the flashlight, slipping the strap around my wrist and twisting it a few times so it’s secure, then I double check my gun and holster it, as well as my knife. Everything’s in order, as much as it can be, so I leave the sanctuary, stepping through the narthex.

Outside has changed. As I step down into the small churchyard, I step into thick fog that comes right up to my knees, swirling around my legs with each difficult step I take. This is some fucking Silent Hill shit. I half expect to hear sirens going off in the distance while the paint peels off all the buildings. At this point, I don’t think it would phase me all that much.

Instead, I hear nothing. It’s dead silent as I stand on the threshold of the church grounds. The old streetlights ahead of me flicker with a strange blue light. Will-o’-the-wisps. This place is attracting all sorts of things, wisps are usually found around bogs, marshlands. The haze makes their light into fuzzy halos above me. I turn the flashlight up the street but I can’t see much of anything, which includes any movement in the mist. I take that as a good sign.

Move forward. Do your job. Save Shiro.

I repeat this mantra to myself over and over as I step off of hallowed ground and out onto the street. As I move up the street the wisps are a step ahead of me, flickering from streetlamp to streetlamp with a soft little sound not unlike a sigh. They offer me a little bit of extra light and I get the feeling they’re on my side. They’re my only companions in the dark, which is fine by me. I turn the corner and head up the street that will take me to the main road. I’m fucking panting with exertion because my body is about ready to give up on me, but I can’t let it. Not yet. The fog is raising up to mid-thigh.

It’s just me and the wisps all the way back to my truck and I collapse against the hood the moment I reach it. The metal is cool against my forehead that’s covered in sweat and the wisps settle into the headlights of the truck. I can barely breathe around the weight in my chest but I can’t let myself be swallowed up with guilt. I fucking  _ can’t _ . This isn’t over yet.

I climb into my truck and lay myself out over the front seats so I can dig around under the passenger seat for the first-aid kit. I pull it out and flop back up in the driver’s seat, twisting around to rest my leg on the centre console with the kit in my lap. I cut away the torn fabric around the bite with a pair of bandage scissors and then dump out a bottle of disinfectant, hissing at the sting, stamping my other foot hard against the bottom of the truck to ride it through.  _ Fuck _ . But I have to clean the wound, wiping it down with a wad of gauze with a shaky hand, breathing out hard through my teeth. I dump the gauze on the passenger seat. They’re fairly clean wounds, but they’re deep, digging into muscle. I can count the puncture marks and I feel down my leg just to make sure nothing is broken. The hound wasn’t trying to do anything other than stop me from reaching Shiro. They really want me to see something. I pack gauze against the wound, tugging the fabric of my jeans aside to tape around the edges, and then I wind a bandage around my calf, over my jeans, safety-pinning it securely. Okay. One hurdle jumped. I toss the kit onto the seat with the gauze and shift probably into the driver’s seat.

I need a fucking cigarette. I find my pack crushed in my coat pocket and fish around for one that’s not split or bent in half. There’s one. Guess my luck is turning. If this is potentially my last cigarette, I intend to enjoy it. I slump down in my seat, light it up, and rest my head back. I take long, slow drags, piping smoke up at the roof of the truck. I close my eyes. I fight back any thoughts about anything other than the bliss of nicotine entering my system. It gives me a headrush. I let the ash collect down the front of my hoodie and grind the butt out on the dashboard, dropping it into the cup holder.

Time for the moment of truth. I grab the key in the ignition and before turning it I lean as far forward in my seat as I can so I can look up through the windshield, up at the heavens.

“Okay, big guy. I think you owe me this one, yeah? I’ve been doing your dirty work for years.” It’s as close to a prayer as I’m capable of, given that I’ve only recently starting really  _ believing _ in God. Hopefully He believes in me, too. It’s His damn kid that got me into this mess, after all. I take a deep breath and turn the key. The truck sputters to life and pure relief crashes over me. I press my forehead to the top of the steering wheel. “ _ Thank you _ .” I breathe, and then quietly promise to go to church at least once if I make it out of here.

My headlights are fucking useless in this fog. It’s way too thick and it’s gotten so high it curls around the edges of the front of the truck. Thankfully, my wisps haven’t abandoned me. They flitter to the streetlamps ahead of me and I pull out of the hasty parking spot, driving slowly down what I approximate is the centre of the road. I lean far forward in my seat so I can see the wisps clearly as they shudder from place to place above me. I squeeze the wheel tight to hide the way my hands shake as the wisps sit on the corners of the sign at the end of the road.

RED MANSION, FIVE MINUTES.

I don’t stop. I know if I stop the truck I’ll stop entirely. The well of guilt inside of me will take me whole and I’ll be rendered completely useless.

Move forward. Do your job. Save Shiro.

The wisps lead the way forward, bouncing off of fence posts because there are no street lights along the back road. Adrenaline is making blood rush in my ears and I nearly jump out of my skin when my radio suddenly comes to life with a spluttering crack of static. I fumble my fingers over the radio front, twisting the volume knob down as low as I can but it doesn’t do anything. The static pitches louder and my whole body tries to recoil from the sound. Underneath it, I can hear a voice. At first I can’t make out the words but as the static turns into a flat, tinny whine they come through, sounding like something coming off of an old vinyl record. Crackling, fading in and out.

_ We’re waiting for you _

_ K e i t h _

_ He’s holding on just for you _

My first reaction is pure rage. I ball my hand into a fist and slam it against the radio over and over again. I think I’m fucking yelling at the thing which only feels like the stupid thing to do in hindsight. I slam at the off button, screaming and cursing and the static cuts off. The radio goes dead again. The only sound in the cab of the truck is me.

Panic, fear, sorrow swoop in to take the rage’s place. I stamp those feelings down, suffocate them under something that feels significantly more flimsy.

Hope.

Shiro is alive.

He’s holding on for me and I am going to be there. I am going to get him the fuck out of here. The drive feels like it takes forever and I kill the headlights before the turn off, rolling up to the front gate of Red Mansion. My wisps settle on either side of it. The gates are open, one of them swinging lamely off its hinges and I can see a  _ fuckton _ of movement past it. From the mist I can see the arched backs of ghouls and God only knows what else is lurking in there. I see the wet fin of a kappa slapping out against the concrete of a stagnant water fountain. There’s movement along the eaves of the mansion and I really hate dealing with anything that can fly, so they can stay the fuck up there. I can’t believe I’m actually wishing for a gargoyle, even though it’s obvious they’re not here. Gargoyles are homicidally territorial. They’ll clear out anything that tries to stake a claim in their area. They’re not as common as I’d like them to be.

I drum my fingers on the steering wheel and think. I can’t fight my way through this, so I have to redirect their attention else where so I can book it. One final stretch and then this can all come to a close. I climb down from the truck as quietly as I can, keeping close to it as I come around towards the front bumper. The flashlight swings from my wrist, the mist swallowing the light. I don’t really want to give up my only source of light so I pat down my pockets instead- Oh.

Oh,  _ yes. _

The road flares. I had completely forgotten about them. I dig them up out of my inside pocket and look them over in the low light. They’re still intact and if I remember right, these things burn for about fifteen minutes. That’s plenty of time. Alright.

Move forward. Do your job. Save Shiro.

I rip the cap off the first flare the moment I walk through the gates, holding it as far away from me as possibly, high up over my head. It throws red light into my face. I feel every single eye in the place turn towards me and I throw the flare as hard as I can to my right. I hear the scampering of claws and paws and all sorts of things take off after it. The flashlight swings like a pendulum and I rip the cap off the second flare and throw it just as hard to my left, watching it twirl away from me and land somewhere in the mist, making it glow red. I wait about five seconds before I take off, refusing to give into the searing pain in my leg, my shoulder, ribs. Suck it up and move. I trip on the old marble steps and grab the door handle. I fall forward into the foyer of the mansion, rolling onto my back and kicking the door shut behind me. I huff out a breath and stare around at my surroundings, slowing turning onto my side and pushing myself up onto my knees. I lift the torch up, shining it around the ruin of a building.

I nearly miss it.

The sound of weeping. I curse under my breath and clamp my hand over the torch, cutting off the light. Banshee. There’s a banshee somewhere in here and if I hit it with the light it is going to fly into a rage that I can’t deal with right now. I turn the flashlight off and get to my feet, turning to face out into the room. The mist is seeping in from the hole in the left wing but it’s a fine layer of haze over the floor for now and nothing more. I step forward cautiously, squinting as if it’ll help my limited vision. I think the crying is coming from the left of me, maybe under the staircase. From the set of doors between them, I can see light seeping through the cracks. The static starts up again from my phone and I yank it out of my back pocket and immediately wing it back towards the front entrance. It hits the door hard and falls to the floor in two pieces.  _ Fuck off. _

I have to throw myself against the door to get it to open and I stumble into the old dining hall, squinting into the light. It’s not bright but compared to the near-darkness I’ve been in it’s fucking blinding. I throw my arm up to guard my eyes and the door swings shut behind me with a foreboding bang. I guess I’m not getting out of here. Part of me already knew that anyway. I breathe out slowly and lower my arm.

In the centre of the room, Shiro is down on his knees, staring forward in that same listless way as before, when I lost him. The front of his GU hoodie is stained black like ink was poured over him. He is being held against the most beautiful creature I have ever seen.

I don’t know what I expected a fallen angel to look like. Given that they’re damned to Hell for eternity, you can’t help but think they’ll be something gnarled and horrible like the other shit that gets spewed up from Hell. It’s easy to forget that Lucifer was beautiful, and therefore all of his siblings were, too.

Bezaliel cradles Shiro’s head to his chest, his long, silver hair tumbling over both of their faces. His skin is a dark, warm shade of brown and his eyes shine gold in the faint light that seems to be  _ radiating _ off of him, but there’s an edge to his gaze like the blade of a knife and it cuts right through me, it guts me. He’s smiling easily at me, his mouth a perfect cupid’s bow. He does and doesn’t have wings. They’re not something solid that I can see, exactly. I catch impressions of them. Flickers of feathers that aren’t really there, framing both him and Shiro where they sit. He’s dressed in light, gauzy robes that are dirty with charcoal and burnt around the hem and the sleeves. There’s a black smear along one high cheekbone, too. His slender, pretty hand is caressing Shiro’s slack jaw, down along his throat and to his chest.

Behind them is a large, ink-black pool of liquid like what’s covering Shiro. Like Bezaliel, it’s not how I expect the rift to look. I guess I was expecting fire, oppressive heat, hellspeak. It’s perfectly calm, so still it’s like a mirror, reflecting the ceiling above it.

Between them and me are a pack of hellhounds and spindly ghouls all with their wide, black eyes trained on me. A chandelier swings above us from the three ghouls all clamouring for purchase on it. Plaster flakes off from the fixture and dissipates in the air.

It feels like Shiro might as well be on an entirely different planet, but just standing here isn’t an option.

“Hurry now. He’s holding on just for you.” Bezaliel says in a soft and lilting voice that fills up the entire room. It makes my skin crawl and everything in me is telling me to  _ run _ . 

Instead I unholster my gun and raise it up in front of me in both hands, the flashlight swinging, the strap irritating the skin on my wrist and I fucking clasp onto the feeling like an anchor. Something small. Something that isn’t the feeling of my body breaking apart, figuratively and literally. I only have to make it across this room and this will all be over, so I’m going to clear a fucking path. I have eight rounds and a fistful of bullets in my pocket, three vials of holy water, a letter opener and a hunting knife.

I walk forward and I fire, I move slowly, I take the time to aim. Two hellhounds go down. A ghoul shrieks and sprays black over the floor from its chest cavity that I burst open. A hellhound snaps at my ankle and I slam the butt of the gun down onto the top of its head and it falls back with a cry. The ghouls from the chandelier drop and they don’t even hit the fucking ground before they’re dead, one landing in front of me, black blood spraying over the front of my jeans. I walk over its body and blink  _ hard _ to try and hold back the pain in my shoulders from the recoil. I stagger forward and feel the damp of blood running down my leg from the bite wound. My shoulder is bleeding through the gauze and now through my coat, dots of red spreading through the fibres of the fabric. My skin is clammy. Why is this so fucking  _ hard _ .

I hear a gurgle ahead of me and I snap my head up in time to see Bazeliel grab Shiro’s face in one hand, turning it from side to side as something black and liquid bubbles up between his lips, gathering up in the well between Bazeliel’s thumb and forefinger.

“What did you do!” I scream and a hellhound lunges up at me and snaps its jaws closed over my forearm. I hear the bone break and I watch the blood spill out around its teeth and my throat goes fucking dry. I can’t make a fucking sound. Not even a gasp of pain. Its teeth tear through my skin and it rips me off of my feet the same way I’d been taken down before. The gun is flung from my hand and I flail after it as I’m dragged across the old tile floor, kicking out, trying to find something to grab hold of as the hound yanks and pulls on my arm, ripping gashes into my skin until its jaw is clamped on my wrist and it hurts it hurts it hurts so fucking bad and I can’t see because I’m crying.

I am screaming, actually. My throat is aching and I have no idea how long I’ve been screaming for because I don’t have the presence of mind to really attend to it. It’s an instinct that’s just happening while I go into shock, I guess. I let myself be dragged forward and for the first time I realize that I’m being dragged  _ towards _ the rift, towards Shiro and Bazeliel who is watching me with one thin eyebrow twitched upward while he smears around the black mire spilling out of Shiro’s mouth. My wrist is let go of when I’m five feet away from them and I lift my hand toward my face, shaking. Blood drips from my elbow where it’s gathered up from the tears in my skin. I wriggle my fingers. They move. I can see the broken bone, my forearm bent at a slight angle that shouldn’t be there. The bone doesn’t quite protrude through the skin.

“I told you I would make you watch, Keith.” Bazeliel croons down at me and I frown and drag my knees under me, forcing myself up. I can’t quite I find it in me to stand yet. I think a main artery is ruptured in my arm because I’m bleeding a lot. If I keep bleeding like this I’ll die. Bazeliel sighs and flicks his long hair away from his face and rubs his cheek against Shiro’s. “Unfortunately, you were just a little too slow, weren’t you? Like you always are, can never quite get the timing right.”

I blink hard and swallow harder, staring up at him and then to Shiro who’s slack-jawed and pale, his eyes glassy and staring forward blindly. His hands are limp at his sides.

Wait.

No.

“No.” I shake my head and I keep saying it.  _ No no no no no no no no no _ . “No- no, you’re lying. You’re lying. You said you’d make me watch. You didn’t keep your word-” I don’t know why that’s the logic I cling onto. My hand slips in my own blood as I try to push myself up onto my feet and if I wasn’t fucking broken before I am now. I feel like I’m full of needles. Full of broken glass. My ears are ringing and my vision keeps blurring around the edges but I think that’s because I’m still crying. Bazeliel drags his hand up into Shiro’s hair and clamps down hard on it, hard enough that when he stands Shiro dangles from the grip, lifted slightly off his knees. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t react. There’s no cry of pain and his eyes don’t move in their sockets. His mouth falls open slightly but only because it’s no longer being held shut and all I can see is  _ black _ . It coats his teeth and his tongue and slides down out of the corners of his mouth, gathering under his chin.

Oh God.

I did this.

“Oh, you haven’t missed anything, Keith. Shiro checked out a long time ago.” I feel like I’m fucking choking. Like cement is being poured down my throat and filling up my lungs. I did this. I brought him here. I shouldn’t have come to Arus. “I want you to watch him be destroyed, so you know he will never, ever find peace.”

“What?” I croak and before I get an answer I hear a loud, wet crack and something starts to soak through the front of Shiro’s hoodie and then it starts to  _ burn _ . I can smell the smoke, the stench of burning cotton and polyester. I watch as holes burn into the fabric of Shiro’s hoodie with on actual flames in sight. It starts at his sternum and it ripples out from there and there is no beautiful, perfect tanned skin underneath but instead there is a hole where his ribs appear to have burst through his skin, the protruding bone jagged and covered in… In him. His insides. Like someone punched a hole through his chest cavity and all that’s inside of it now is black. So much of that thick, inky black liquid that it’s starting to spill out of him onto the floor and he’s not moving he’s not breathing oh god he’s dead  _ he’s dead he’s dead i killed him _ and then from somewhere within the pitch that is filling Shiro up reaches out a hand. The fingers flex wide and then they curl around the edges of the hole in Shiro’s torse  _ there’s a hole in shiro’s torso _ , the fingers sliding in between the cracked ribs, dislodging one. I watch it hit the tile in slow motion and another hand reaches out of the black, slapping against Shiro’s stomach, trying to find something to grip onto. It curls into the remnants of his hoodie and I watch it pull hard. It’s trying to get out. Through Shiro.

No.

NO.

I scream as I force myself to my feet because my entire body is falling apart but I still have to reach behind me. I still have to do this one last thing. I curl my bloody hand around the handle of my knife and I pull it out, my grip white-knuckled. I hear Bazeliel laugh, a strange, tinkling sound that ricochets off the walls and ceiling and the floor and my ears pop.

“You can’t kill me, Keith. You know that. You will be the first thing  _ our childR E N WI LL FE AS T ON”  _

I don’t make a sound. I don’t take the fucking bait this time and instead I just lunge forward, I throw myself against Shiro and I swing my broken, bleeding, aching arm up and I ram the knife into Bazeliel’s long, slender neck. I sink it in all the way to the hilt and I think the tip of the blade goes all the way through. Good. I throw all of my weight, all of my energy forward, my hand clutching into the back of Shiro’s hoodie, my nails cutting into his skin to keep him with me.  _ I’m not fucking letting go this time. _

I stare down into the black pool behind us as it rushes towards me, waiting for the impact.

We fall.

-

I don’t know what I thought it would feel like, falling into the rift. Falling into Hell.

At first, it had felt like falling through a bed of needles. It had stung the same way my skin had stung after Shiro had coughed black onto me. But then it had stopped stinging and now there’s… nothing. It’s black and there is no light but I can still see Shiro. I hold him as tightly to me as my ruined body can manage. In my left hand I’m still clutching the knife handle and by extension, Bazeliel and I can see him clearly as well, his silver hair floating out around him like he’s under water. But there’s nothing else. I crane my head back as far as I can trying to find the surface, the place we fell through, but there is no light here. Just this strange, empty blackness. I don’t even know if we’re falling because there is no… direction here. No obvious pull of gravity.

I’m just drifting with Shiro’s dead body clutched to me. The inky fluid coming from him is staining my clothes. I can feel the hole in his chest against mine. Little droplets of the black fluid lift away from his lips. They’re turning blue. It isn’t hot or cold here. My tears don’t stay on my face, they just drift away with everything else. I’m not sobbing anymore, if I ever had been. It’s just an endless stream of tears as I try and wish him back to life. His eyes are open but they’re empty, no light in them. His eyelashes are stuck together. At some point, he had been crying, too. I wonder if he knew all that had happened to him.

_ I’m so sorry. _

_ I’m so sorry I did this to you. _

_ I’m so sorry I wedged my way into your life. _

_ I’m so sorry I ruin everything. _

I rub my forehead against his cold cheek and close my eyes. If this is Hell then I take my hat off to the devil for how perfectly tailored to my guilt it is. Floating through forever with the body of the man that I loved and killed in one fell swoop. Bazeliel beside me is inconsequential. I don’t give a fuck about him. If I have to spend an eternity watching him rot then it will be the one small pleasure I find here.

But of course, you can’t kill an angel, fallen or otherwise.

I open my eyes to the sound of a wet, croaking laugh that vibrates the handle of the knife in my hand. Those gold eyes look more like honey in this strange place, and they are turned on me. Bazeliel smiles at me, toothy and vicious.

“Do you want to know why you didn’t die with your parents that day, Keith?” His voice cracks around the knife in his throat but his words are still crystal clear, ringing around this empty place. I stare over at him, my body trembling. My arm is still bleeding even though I suppose I’m dead. The blood lifts away in droplets and drifts far away until I can’t see it anymore. Pain is still real here.

“Bad timing, as always, you always have such bad timing. As if I wanted a little child. I needed someone strong, but the moment I plucked those strings of life from you, they fell apart. So I threw you back into this world so it could eat away at you. Make you an easy meal for the children.”   
_ Please, stop. _

“You were the test. To see if it could be done. And it could, with someone strong. So I waited.” He smiles and casts his gaze down on Shiro’s pale face. “So strong. All that I took from him made such a  _ strong _ spirit.”

I think of that strange shadow that had caressed Shiro so gently before being absorbed into him. It was him. The first twenty-one years of him. A baited hook.

“And I spent all this time plucking away at it, twisting it up until it was black and broken. So it would  _ listen _ to me and bring him to me when I needed him.” Bazeliel’s lips peel back from his teeth in a distorted grin. He brings his hands up and digs them into my arm and I try to scream in pain but nothing comes out. “And I got to play with you. My failed experiment. Weak, pathetic. But, oh…”

His laugh rattles all around me again and I don’t know if I will ever stop crying.

“He loved you, or at least he thought he did. It’s hard to say. He’s never felt love before, not after what I took from him. So an ember can seem like a forest fire when one doesn’t have a comparison.”

_ Please. Please stop. _

“And you love him because you fall in love with anyone who shows a little bit of kindness. Pathetic, broken, messy Keith. You would think that all I left behind was the child, not the man.” I turn my face into Shiro’s shoulder and I let go of the knife but Bazeliel doesn’t let go of me. He just laughs and laughs at a deafening volume and I try to smother myself in what remains of Shiro’s hoodie. He smells of tar. “I lament that you won’t be my children’s first feast, but at least you will be out of the way when I return again. I will not fail.”

_ Stop _ .

I can’t take any more of this. I hold on tight to Shiro as I twist towards Bazeliel, curling my knees up as far as I can, I jam the heels of my boots into his ribcage and kick him as hard as I possibly can. His laugh quickly turns hysterical, his whole body shaking with it and I think of the corpse in the alleyway and then I kick at him again and again. He lets go of my arms, tearing open the wounds a little further and when I kick him one last time, it pushes him away from me. The darkness seems to suck him in quickly, he lets it take him, his laughter fizzing away to nothing.

Not having him near me doesn’t make me feel any better.

I don’t know if anything he said was true. I don’t know. I don’t know if Shiro loved me. If it was possible for him to love me in the little bit of time we had together. I do know that I love him. I love him in a lot of different ways. I love that he was brave. I love that he saw the wonder in all of the madness I dragged him into. I love that the moment he met people, they fell in love with him, too.

I guess loving a lot of little parts of a person equates to loving them entirely. I did love him. I  _ do _ love him.

I hold Shiro to me, my bloody fingers in his hair that is starting to become the only soft part of him. Will he rot here? I guess he will. Again, I give my kudos to the devil for knowing the exact angle to hold the blade at before sliding it up into my ribs. I close my eyes and lay my head against his shoulder, but I can’t bear to press my face into his neck and not feel his pulse or his breath, so I turn my head the other way. I’m going to try and find out if sleep is possible in this strange, dark place.

-

When I open my eyes, I’m sitting in the back seat of a car, green scenery whipping past me through the window beside me. I’m travelling on a highway I think, but it must not be anywhere near Garrison. Garrison isn’t green like this. When I look down in my lap, my hands are small and chubby. There is a band-aid on my knee with a Sesame Street character printed on it, smiling at me upside down. I swing my legs and they are nowhere near touching the floor.

I’m five years old and I am in the back of my parents’ car. We’re driving out of Garrison to go on holiday. It’s summer. I had tripped on the stairs when I was leaving the house this morning and I had scraped my knee. I had cried harder about my dad putting the band-aid on the wrong way so that Elmo was upside down from my perspective than I had cried about the fall. My dad had laughed because mom told him that he wouldn’t be going anywhere if he was going to be grumpy. Dad is never  _ really _ grumpy, though. He just makes this face that makes him look really old sometimes. He’s in the seat directly in front of me, driving. In the seat across from him is my mom and I see her reach over to fiddle with the radio dial. The signal is fading out because we’re too far away from anywhere, so she digs around the centre console and finds a CD. Mom likes old rock songs, although I suppose to her they’re not old. It’s the stuff she grew up with. She likes Janis Joplin, and she likes to put me on her hip and dance around the kitchen to  _ Take Another Piece Of My Heart _ , singing to me, dipping me so low that my hair brushes the tiles. It makes me laugh so hard I get the hiccups.

I get mistaken for a girl a lot because mom likes to let my hair grow out and dad doesn’t mind so long as we’re both happy. If mom is happy, I’m happy. But I do complain when she puts it up in a ponytail because I am not  _ really _ a girl.

I heave the biggest sigh a five year old can possibly manage and I’m about to complain that I Am  _ Bored _ when suddenly something goes very wrong. It happens fast. I get thrown around in my seat and the seatbelt digs into my skin and it hurts, it knocks the breath out of me. I hear so many loud noises that I can’t pull any of them apart except for one and that’s my mom screaming. Just screaming. There is a loud shriek of car brakes and then an even louder crash and suddenly the world is spinning. The sky is under me then over me and then under me again and I am dangling from my carseat with something hot and wet and red running down my face and I am crying, screaming for my mom and my dad. Dad has fallen out of his seat and is crumpled on the roof of the car but mom is still hanging from her seatbelt. Her arm is flung out where I can see it but her long black hair hides her face from me.

They don’t move.

I’m feeling very tired.

I close my eyes.

-

I’m on a college campus that I don’t recognize. I know I’m not in Garrison because I’ve spent so much time on the GU campus in the past that I know it like the back of my hand. This place is different.

It’s dark out it. It’s late and I’m hungry but I’m waiting for someone out here in the dark and the cold, huddled up against a tree so I can see the entrance to the library building. It must be getting close to closing because there are students coming out in groups, squealing that it’s cold, trying to balance their stacks of books while aso trying to rub some warmth into their hands. None of them are who I’m looking for. I wait with my hands in my pockets. There’s something heavy in one of them and a set of keys in the other. 

I am here to do something I don’t want to do but I have to do it. An angel came down from the heavens and found me in my squalid apartment and promised that if I did this one then I would be free from all of my pain. I had said yes, so now I am waiting.

I see the man I am looking for come out of the building. He has a messenger bag that is so full it won’t close and he stops on the bottom step to rub his hands together through his gloves and he pulls down a beanie over his black undercut. He is quite tall and a much stronger build than me, but I only have to surprise him and that will be enough. He tries to shrug the strap of his bag up further onto his shoulder but it’s too heavy, so he curls his hands around the strap and holds it in place instead. He yawns as he steps down onto the path and starts walking. He goes right past me. He does not see me. I slip away from the tree I’m hiding against and follow after him, a few paces behind. He doesn’t look over his shoulder once. His bag bounces against his hip as he walks and he takes one hand off the strap to dig his phone out of his pocket. He pulls off one of his gloves with his teeth so that he can reply to a text and then he jams the phone in his bag and pulls his glove back on with a laugh and a shake of his head. He turns a corner and I take my chance.

I run to catch up to him. I grab him by the shoulder, bunching his coat in my hand and I use it to swung him around and slam him into the brick wall of the building. He’s surprised to see me because he doesn’t know me. He throws his hands up and he gapes. He tries to speak but can’t seem to find the right words. He asks me what I want and tells me that if I need money then he’ll give me some. But I don’t want money. I want salvation. So I take the switchblade out of my pocket and I flick it open. I decide I don’t want him to see it so I keep hold of him by the shoulder and step in close so that he doesn’t see the glint of the blade before I plunge it into his stomach.

It’s much harder to stab someone then they make it look on the TV. I have to wriggle and push the blade to get through the wool of his coat and the layers he has on underneath. His hands are still raised up and he looks from my face to the knife like he can’t believe it. His mouth falls open and I pull my arm back and I stab him again. He makes a wet, gasping sound and the more I plunge the knife in the wetter it gets. I keep stabbing, driving the knife in right to the hilt until there is blood all over my hand, staining the sleeve of my jacket.

The man crumbles in on himself, slumping down the wall so I pull away. I stumble back. I drop the knife and look around to make sure there’s no one here. The man slides down the wall until he’s sitting, his hands clutching at his stomach. Red drips from his mouth and he coughs and splutters. His eyes are wide in terror and he stares up at me like he’s confused. Like he wants to ask me  _ why _ .

Salvation.

The angel made me do it.

-

I wake myself up with a scream that gets swallowed up by the darkness and I yank myself backward, clutching at Shiro’s stiff, cold shoulders.

_ It wasn’t me. It wasn’t me it wasn’t me it wasn’t me it was just a dream. _

I run my hands over his stomach frantically. I search for the stab wounds. Instead there’s just a hole in his chest which feels like it has always been there. I dig my hands into the tattered fabric of his clothes and stare off into the distance while I try to remember how to breathe, and then I wonder if breathing has ever been a requirement in this place. I don’t know how long I’ve been here now. I don’t know how many times I have seen my parents die or how many times I’ve dreamed of stabbing Shiro over and over and over again on a strange college campus somewhere far away from here. I think Shiro is now long dead. His body is cold, unnaturally cold, as dead things seem to be. It’s always a shock when you lay your hand on a dead thing, it’s a cold so deep and wrong that it’s like a burn to feel it. You have to get away from it.

That’s not an option for me. I can’t just let Shiro go and drift alone in this darkness, and even if I didn’t stab him to death, I still killed him.

I deserve this punishment.

I pull Shiro back to me, tucking his head under my chin. I trace the geometric patterns Shiro has shaved into his undercut. They had grown out quite a bit from when I first met him. I know the pattern by heart now, tracing my fingertips over it like I’m reading braille. I press my nose into his hair and sigh. He still smells faintly of the shampoo in Allura’s bathroom, but he also still smells heavily of tar and the strange, sweet and rotting scent of death. There is nothing left in the hole inside of his chest. I don’t know where his heart is. I swallow hard, and close my eyes again.

I dream again. The same two dreams, until I suppose the devil decides to add a new cruelty in case I start getting complacent.

In the new dream, I’m in the dark place still, with Shiro held against me, but underneath us I can see a pinprick of light. I stare down at it because it is the only change of scenery I’ve had for as long as I can remember. The longer I stare at it, the larger it becomes. As I get close enough to it that I could easily fall through it, the darkness starts to curl around me, sticking to me like a spider’s web. The light is so bright it’s blinding me, it’s been so long. I dig my fingers into Shiro’s hair and squint down through the hole in the darkness.

Below me I can see… Us. Below me is the tile floor of the Red Mansion’s dining hall and I am lying on it with Shiro laid halfway on top of me. I have one hand in his hair and the other bunched into the back of his hoodie. There’s blood everywhere, all over my face, my arm, all over Shiro and the floor underneath me, but I’m alive. I can see myself blinking slowly, my fingers working in Shiro’s hair. Mixed in with my blood is inky mire, streaking over the tiles. 

The cruelty comes in the way that Shiro turns his head against my shoulder, tilting his head up into my hand in his hair.

The Shiro in my arms up here in the darkness does not move. I watch and I never thought I could feel jealousy towards myself but I do. I’m jealous. I’m furious. I’m down there and Shiro is alive, but I’m not really  _ there _ . This isn’t like the dream where I murder Shiro. I’m just an observer this time and the dream only gets crueler. I watch Allura and Coran run over to us, Allura dropping herself onto her knees and leaning over me. I see the mass of her curling silver hair fall over her small, shaking shoulders. Coran tries to pull Shiro off of me and I won’t let him. I won’t let go. Allura moves. She lifts my head and lays it in her lap, pushing my hair back from my forehead. More blood. Lots of blood. I see her gesture wildly towards the doors and Matt is there now, too and Pidge clinging to her brother. I can’t hear anything down there. I just see them moving, gesturing. Rescuing me. Rescuing Shiro.

But I’m dead.

He’s dead.

We’re dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm also sorry if there are typos. I haven't been sleepin' but i have been writing. this chapter was a weird kind of catharsis. I'll inevitably re-read and edit anything I didn't pick up on.
> 
> believe it or not, love u guys :*  
> comment, kudos! It makes me happy!


	8. Chapter 8

I’m standing on the edge of a cliff which is less of a cliff and more like a flat disc parading _as_ a cliff, floating in the middle of nowhere. It’s only about two feet wide and the surface is uneven, making it hard for me to find my footing because the terrain keeps crumbling under my boots. Right in the centre of the disk is a tiny pool of black. A single drop falls from far above me every few seconds, but it never gets any deeper. From over the edge of the cliff that is not a cliff, far down in the dark I can see a hospital room, sitting among it all like a fucking shoebox with the lid off. It’s dark aside from the yellow light streaming in through the blinds that cover the internal wall windows. The light must be coming from the hallway, the nurses’ station maybe. I’m not very familiar with hospitals. In the room, Allura is curled up on the visitor’s chair, her legs slung over the arm of the chair and her head resting against the padded back. Her hair is a curly mess spilling out of a loose braid and she’s wearing an old, stretched-out sweater that she’s had since before I knew her. Her shoes are dangling from her toes and I can only see the curve of her cheek and one tense corner of her mouth.

I am in the hospital bed. I look like shit. Pale as death, with an IV line going into the back of my hand. My left arm is in a sling and there’s a brace on my arm, too, with bandages running right up to my elbow. There’s a thick bandage over my forehead, my hair shoved back from my face. It’s greasy enough to stay there. I’m in a hospital gown and there is something bulky under the covers. I think it’s probably a pillow propping up my wrecked left leg. I can see my chest rising and falling as I breathe and from all the way up where I can hear the bleeping of my heart monitor, steady and grating.

There is a fucking huge bouquet of flowers on the table next to my bed. Who the fuck bought me flowers?

There is nothing else to see here. I don’t even know how I got here, to be honest. It’s not a dream but it’s not the darkness I had been in before. I don’t know where Shiro has gone, I had just opened my eyes and he wasn’t here and if I weren’t already entirely dead inside, the fact would probably break me. Last time I had seen him, he was starting to fall away from me, crumbling apart in my arms. I guess he’s dust now.

Under my feet, the disc starts to tilt forward and I lean back and try to take a step away from the edge but I can’t get any traction underneath me. The ink pours out of the pool in the centre of the disc and I pitch forward, hurtling down head-first at a breakneck speed and I apparently have enough self-preservation left that I try to slow myself down, flailing my arms out and trying to twist around so I’m falling feet first, but it doesn’t make a difference. I’m free-falling towards the hospital room. As I fall through the ceiling, Allura jumps to her feet and looks me right in the eye. She sees me. I gape and she reaches up and catches me by the hands. I come to a sudden halt and use the momentum to swing my legs under me. Allura grins at me, holding me suspended in the air at the foot of the hospital bed.

“It’s about time you found your way home.” She says to me, squeezing my hands in hers. I’m staring at her in shock, my gaze flicking from her face to our hands twined together. I can feel her hands, warm against mine. I crane my head back towards the ceiling and it’s actually there- no endless black I’ve become used to, instead there’s a flickering fluorescent light that makes me squint. I look back at Allura and she rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Just try not to resist, okay?” She tells me and I nod, stupefied. “This is gonna suck.”

After her warning, she tightens her grip on my hands and pulls me forward, her brow furrowing in concentration as she steps around the side of the bed and drags me forward. It fucking _hurts_ , it feels like I’m being pulled through a hail storm, my skin getting torn at and my skin stinging from the cold but I grit my teeth and try not to tense up my body. Allura maneuvers me so that I’m suspended over my body and I stare down at my sickly, unconscious face. My breathing is shallow but even. I glance over at Allura from the corner of my eye and she has a pretty serious nose bleed but she ignores it and focuses on moving her hands along me, dragging them up to my face without letting up her grip on me. I try to help, reaching my arms down towards the bed, but I don’t move at all. I’m just floating above the bed at Allura’s mercy.

“Ready?” She asks me and I frown a little. I don’t even know what’s about to happen. I have a vague idea but that’s not really the same. I apparently take too long to reply because Allura pulls on me, yanking me forward by the face and the closer I get to my body the more the entire world seems to try and reject me. It’s like trying to swim through tar, through molasses. I’m screaming as Allura forces me closer and then my forehead touches- well, _my_ forehead and she takes her hands off of me.

I don’t know how to describe the feeling of snapping back into my body. It’s like the feeling of snapping a rubber band against your skin only amplified by about a million. It’s like an electric shock from head to toe. It’s excruciating. I tap out.

I wake up in my body in a hospital bed, feeling woozy. Allura immediately hands me a vomit bag and I fucking blow chunks even though there is _nothing_ in my stomach right now. It makes my throat burn and my chest hurt from the force of my retching. I flop back onto my pillow, trying to calm my breathing down so that I’m not panting. Allura stares down at me expectantly, a tissue clamped over her nose, blood soaking it red at an alarming rate. I stare back.

“What the fuck.” I eventually say, my voice gravelly from disuse and the ache in my throat. Allura gives me a warm smile and disposes of the vomit bag before saying anything else.

“I just hauled you out of an in between plane because you _recklessly_ threw yourself into an active hellrift.”

I blink slowly from her to the ceiling I had fallen through. I curl my good hand against the stiff hospital linen and try to make sense of things. “I died.” I say a little helplessly, because I honestly don’t know _how_ I’m alive and if I even want to be alive anymore. I know what’s missing from the world and it makes it even darker than the place I had been for all this time.

“No,” Allura says simply and she sits down on the edge of my bed. She grabs another wad of tissues and pinches them against her nose with one hand and takes my hand with the other. My hand is clammy in hers. “You were just lost. You fell into the rift but you never breached the other side. You were just floating through empty space, unable to find your way home. Your body stayed here although it did its damn best to leave, too. You know, one day Death is going to take you up on your offer.”

“But I went into the rift, I was _in it_ with Bazeliel, and-” I choke and squeeze my eyes shut. I can’t say it.

“You didn’t belong in it, so it spat you back up although not before it did all sorts of awful shit to your head. You definitely fell into that rift with Bazeliel, but you were alone shortly thereafter and even then, it was only your mind adrift. Bazeliel went back to where he belonged. That being said, I don’t recommend ever diving in again. It’s taken you a week to get back home and next time you might not be so lucky.”

It had felt like years had passed in that dark place, an endless pit of black punctuated by a cycle of nightmares. Shiro’s decomposition was the only thing I had to even vaguely guess at the passage of time.

_Shiro._

Shiro is gone. He had gone into the rift dead so even if he’d come back out with me, he was gone. I had killed him. It was my fault. I didn’t dream that. The rift didn’t conjure that up in my head to torment me.

The depression that I had been steadily sinking into finally swallows me whole. I sink down into my pillows and let the guilt fill me up, the weight in my chest suffocating and I don’t fight it. If I’ve been out for a week, then Shiro is already in the ground. Gone. I won’t see him again and it wasn’t even a decision I had gotten to make- because I had considered it. If I had managed to get him out of Arus alive, I was going to walk away, to keep him safe from the danger that surrounds me and anyone in my immediate proximity.

What a joke.

Allura sets my hand down gently and gets up, collecting her wad of bloody tissues to drop them in the waste basket and then she picks up a bag from under her seat and pulls out a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, tossing them on the bed and then she comes back to my side and pulls my blankets down.

“What-”

“Get dressed, come on. You can’t just lie around all day.” She says sternly and I frown, but the confusion just sort of slides off the thick layer of depressive indifference that’s settling over me. I don’t have the energy to fight and what does it matter, anyway. I look down at my body, my leg thickly bandaged as well as my arm and I can feel the firm wraps around my ribcage. Allura offers me her hand and I take it to pull myself up into a sitting position. There is a dull ache in my body that isn’t a result of anxiety and despair but just good old disuse and abuse. Allura patiently waits for me to get dressed, wiggling into my sweatpants and then she helps me with my hoodie, gently easing my bad arm into the sleeve and replacing my sling. She puts her arm around me when I slide off the bed- it’s not that I can’t walk on my bad leg, because a week of healing has done it some good, it’s just that I am so _weak_ after effectively being in a coma all this time, and my mind is fucking broken. Executive functionality has dislodged itself so I let Allura lead me out of the room and up the corridor without even bothering to ask where it is she’s leading me to. She could lead me off the roof and I would be fine with it.

Instead Allura stops me outside of a different hospital room, the door partially open but not enough for me to see in. I frown up at Allura groggily and she gives me one of her knowing little smiles which only makes me frown further. She adjusts her grip on me and nudges the door open further to let us both in.

She has to hold me to keep me up on my feet when I see Shiro lying in the hospital bed, asleep but his heart monitor is keeping a healthy rhythm on the screen beside him, all vital signs reading positively. I curl my hand into Allura’s sweater and stare up at her, shaking my head slightly. Her smile grows larger and she gently pulls me against her, combing her hand through my hair, her go-to form of comfort.

“How-” I splutter, letting the tears fall shamelessly. We’re standing halfway between the door and the bed and I can’t bear to take another step forward in case I suddenly wake up and all I have of him is his dead body again. Allura is holding me up as I fall apart, watching the steady rise and fall of Shiro’s chest, the chest I had seen burst open and hollowed out. I hiccup and splutter nonsensically, just demanding to know _how_.

Allura shushes me gently, rocking me in her arms until I’ve calmed down enough that she can get a word in edgewise. “I don’t know. We found you clinging onto him, and he was alive. When he woke up, he told us what happened- we can’t explain it. We don’t know how he’s alive.”

“He- he’s woken up?” I sniff grossly and Allura cradles my head to her chest.

“Two days ago, only for a little while. He’s been sleeping a lot. He’s weak, but physically, he’s less harmed than you are.”

“I saw a fallen angel try to crawl out of his chest.” I say flatly. I just can’t believe what I’m seeing. _He’s alive. He’s alive._

“I think it was divine intervention.” Allura tells me, “since he was murdered by a fallen angel, perhaps God decided to give him back to us until it’s truly his time.”

I think about the dream I had. The one where Shiro is stabbed over and over again. _The angel made me do it_. I think about the second day that I knew Shiro, where he told me that he’d been hoping to find proof of God.

I think about his eyes, dull and lifeless and how I thought that that was the only way I’d ever remember them being.

“I’ll leave you alone with him.” Allura says softly against my hair and I nod, pressing my weight away from her so I can stand up on my own. She rubs my good shoulder and I hear her leave the room, pulling the door shut behind her.

I feel nervous as I approach the side of Shiro’s bed, curling my fingers around the low railing along the sides. I stare down at him with his warm, healthy skin and lips that are a little dry, his black eyelashes curling against the faintly bruised skin under his eyes. The hair that falls over his forehead is a shock of white that peppers back into his black hair and I can’t stop myself from reaching forward and running my fingers through it. It’s soft and I rub the silky strands between my fingers gently. I guess it’s true that trauma can make your hair turn white, and he’s had more trauma in the short time that he’s known me than anyone ever should have to go through. My hand shakes as I lightly trace down the side of his face, the pads of my fingers catching on the light stubble on his jaw. I bring my hand down to his chest but I can’t quite make the contact. God, what if this is a dream. What if this is just another dream and I reach down and it’s empty. He’s empty. A gentle shake turns into a violent tremor in my hand and I’m sobbing quietly over the simple act of laying my hand down on him. I want to feel his heart but if I touch him and he falls away from me again I don’t know what I’ll do.

Or rather, I know exactly what I’ll do.

I just need to know if he’s alive. If he’s alive, then I can still save him.

I swallow hard, sinking my teeth into my bottom lip and lower my hand against his chest. His warm, solid chest that raises and falls with his breathing. His chest that has a strong, beating heart in it. His chest that has bandages wound around it and I follow the thick bulk of gauze down his sternum. _Alive_.

I make up my mind on the spot. Shiro had already died once on my watch and I was never going to let it happen again. He was free of Bezaliel’s threat now so he could go back to his normal life in the city. He can go back to his apartment and his job and he can forget all about me and be _safe_. He doesn’t need me anymore and I’ve always worked just fine on my own. Better than fine. I’m fucking fantastic.

Shiro has to live.

I lean forward despite the twinge in my ribs from doing so and kiss his cheek lightly, desperate for him to stay asleep so my resolve won’t crumble because if he opens those beautiful dark eyes and says my name I’ll stay forever. He stays asleep. I leave the room, closing the door behind me softly. I limp back down to my hospital room and it’s empty. I b-line for the bag Allura’s left under her seat and I dig through its contents; some of my stuff, some of hers. A pair of soft shoes that I toss aside and then I find her wallet and I dig out a couple of twenties and shove them in my pants pocket. I straighten up with a soft groan and shove my feet into my shoes and look around for anything else I might need. The room is basically empty except the big spill of flowers on the bedside table. They’re from Hunk and Lance.

I leave the room and then I leave the hospital. I limp out to the taxi bay and collapse into the backseat of one of the cars. The driver looks at me in his rear view mirror, raising an eyebrow. I scowl and any questions he has die on his tongue, except for the one about where I’m going. I give him my address and sink back into the seat. The trip is a blur. Just have to put some distance between me and Shiro.

I am so fucking glad he’s alive. I’m so happy, happier than I’ve ever been for myself in my entire life so I’m going to make sure it stays that way. He can get stronger and healthier in the hospital and then he can go home to his apartment and salvage his job and in time, his life will go back to normal. He’ll forget about the reckless man who failed to protect him. He’ll forget about the few nights we had of clinging to each other. He’ll be okay. With any luck, he might have even had all of this plucked from his memories on his trip back to the land of the living.

And me? I’ll just keep going like I always do. I’ll do my job. I’ll fight the bad things in the dark corners of Garrison until I’m exhausted enough to sleep without nightmares of Shiro’s body turning to dust in my arms. I’ll be okay.

I have to grease up to my building’s superintendent to let me into my apartment because I have no fucking idea where my keys are anymore. I wonder vaguely if my truck is still out in Arus and if it is, I wonder if I should just let it rot. It’s tempting, but I can’t afford to replace it and I have a long standing sentimental relationship with that rust bucket so I’ll have to figure something out eventually.

I close my door behind me and lean against it, tipping my head back against the wood with a dull thud. I stare up at the ceiling, the grimy light fixtures set in the centre of the room. I grope around the door until I find the lock and I flick it over in case anyone feels the need to try and check up on me. No thank you.

I haven’t been alone in what feels like a long time and standing here in my apartment, I guess it hits me. All of it hits me and the depression that had temporarily been elevated comes crashing back down onto me again and I slide down the door until I’m sitting on the worn-thin carpet. I tell myself I’m not going to cry and then I immediately go back on my word, pressing my good hand over my eyes as I shudder with the force of the first wretched sob. I pull my knees up to my chest and let myself be overwhelmed by it all.

I’ve mourned the loss of Shiro and I know I will keep mourning him for a long time to come, alive or otherwise. What I haven’t spared a second to think about in all of the considerable time I’ve had to think about it is the fact that I fucking _saved the world_. I threw myself into an active hellrift. I took a fallen angel down with me and stopped him from unleashing two hundred more onto the planet so that they could release their cannibalistic children onto us. I had stopped some fucking biblical apocalypse. I had survived hellhounds and ghouls and all sorts of evil.

I had broken my arm and my collarbone. I had chunks bitten out of me until I was bleeding and broken and I had _kept fucking going_ . I had had my brain picked apart and I don’t know how and when that’s going to rear its ugly head but I know that trauma is _there_ and waiting for the right moment to throw its weight into me.

I had seen my parents death. My death. Previously, those memories had not been mine. Now they are and they’ll always be there in the back of my mind. I had seen Shiro’s death, too. Violent and senseless.

This was far beyond what I’m qualified for.

By the time I lift out of my breakdown, I’m lying on the floor, my good hand tucked under my head as I stare out into my apartment. It looks the same as always, except for Shiro’s gym bag on the floor at the foot of my bed. It’s the only reason I even bother to get up, pushing myself up to my feet again so I can lift the bag up onto the bed and dig through the contents. I find one of Shiro’s t-shirts, soft, well-worn grey cotton that smells wonderfully of him. Getting out of my own clothes is a strenuous and long task but I manage it. I pull on Shiro’s shirt instead, pushing my mangled arm through the sleeve. The shirt skims the tops of my thighs and it’s loose on me because Shiro is considerably more built than my wiry ass. I bury my nose into the collar of the shirt, breathing in deeply. _Shiro_. I can’t have him but I can have this. I crawl onto my bed, lying carefully on my stack of pillows for the sake of my collarbone and then I cry myself to sleep, wet hiccupy sobs that leave damp patches on my pillow. I don’t have to try and salvage my pride when I’m alone.

For the first time in what feels like months, I don’t dream. Not a flicker of an image. I sleep solid, my brain shutting down.

For a week, all I seem capable of doing is sleeping and crying. I get up once and manage to tug on some jeans and a hoodie over Shiro’s shirt so I’m warm enough to go down to the seven-eleven on the corner of the block and I buy cigarettes with the money I stole from Allura and so smoking gets added onto my short list of daily activities. I stay curled up on my bed, the ashtray Shiro had cleaned out for me next to me in the sheets and steadily filling up again. I start drinking water because my head is aching from dehydration but the thought of eating makes my stomach churn. My apartment is silent because my phone is long lost so no one can call me. Occasionally someone comes along and bangs on my door, yelling my name into the wood but the noise just slides off of me, white noise, to the point where I couldn’t even tell you who it was at my door at any given time. I only know a handful of people, though, so it’s easy enough to guess.

I eventually bathe, scrubbing off the grime of nearly two weeks of lying around, the first in a hospital bed and the second in various parts of my apartment. Even my kitchen floor got a turn at being my spot to sulk. The cool tiles had soothed my aching head. Redressing my wounds is a frustrating ordeal that sets me off crying all over again, like a fucking toddler who can’t figure some basic shit out.

I put on another one of Shiro’s shirts and pull on my jeans once I’ve done a half-ass job of looking after my injuries. I dig up a beat up pair of doc martens at the back of my closet and a dusty old coat. All my favorite clothes are fucking gone, though even if I had them they would be unwearable with the amount of blood all over everything. So I get dressed and feel like a second-rate version of my usual self, but I want to get out of my apartment now and get back into the swing of routine.

The rift might still be overactive or it might be near-dormant, but either way there are bad things out in Garrison that I need to attend to. The only weapon I have is a switchblade that gets stuck sometimes, but I have recently discovered that I’m an endless fount of dead man’s blood which is probably the best weapon _ever_ against the dead, so I’ll manage. I open the door and Shiro is leaning against the wall opposite it, his arms folded loosely over his chest.

I freeze.

He looks good, dressed nicely in a sweater and jeans, a light coat over top. There’s color in his cheeks and his hair has been tidied up again, though he still has the shock of white falling over his forehead. His expression is neutral as he looks over at me, no tension around his mouth and his eyes the level of softness that just comes naturally to him. I keep my hand tight around the doorknob but it’s too late to back myself up into my apartment and pretend I’m not home. My chest feels like it’s filled with ice while my heart flutters just at the sight of him.

He looks so _good_ , like how he had looked the first time I had seen him in the mouth of an alleyway at nearly eleven at night. Dressed for work with his dark navy peacoat on and his satchel bumping against his hip. I hadn’t appreciated it then because I hadn’t expected… anything. Nothing. And now here I am, looking at him and I feel like my knees are going to give out.

“You look sick.” He says to me matter-of-factly, none of that concern that he always lay on thick to shield away his own emotional turmoil. I stand stock still, unable to even open my mouth to reply. He pushes away from the wall and crosses the hall before I can dart away, so I’m effectively trapped. He slides his hands into his coat pockets and I stare at his nose rather than meeting his eye. “You shouldn’t have checked yourself out of the hospital. We’ve been trying to come and see you since you left. Matt and Katie even came by, but you wouldn’t answer.”

“I’m fine.” I say lamely, dropping my gaze to the side and shrinking back into my apartment when Shiro takes another step forward, crossing the threshold. “I hate hospitals. I don’t have insurance.”

I can feel Shiro’s eyes on me, combing me over while I try not to flinch. I hadn’t thought of any sort of plan on how to cope if I _did_ see him again. I had just convinced myself that our paths wouldn’t cross again even when I had a gym bag of his things in my apartment. God, I’m wearing one of his t-shirts _right now_. I curl my hand into a fist so that I don’t feel the need to pluck at the hem and draw attention of it. I set my jaw and Shiro steps closer to me, bringing his hand up to rest on my good shoulder.

“Why didn’t you stay and wait for me to wake up?” He asks in that softer tone that I know well even though it feels like a lifetime ago since I last heard it. He’s holding me where I am, it’s not just a caress. “Why are you hiding from everyone?” I breathe out hard and my shoulders are singing with tension. He sighs and says softer still, “why are you hiding from me?”

I want to cut him off cold. I want to tell him that I don’t _need_ him, that my job is done. That having him around will slow me down. I want to drive a wedge between us and push so far that he never, ever wants to be near me again. I want to hurt him. I want to keep him safe.

It turns out that for all my bluster I’m fucking _weak as shit_.

“So that you could go back to your life before me.” I admit miserably, my gaze sliding off to the side of us. “Somehow, you’re alive and if you stay around me then that will change. I… I work alone. I have to, or people get hurt. You got hurt. You _died_.”

Shiro is quiet for a moment, his hand gliding down my arm and falling away so he can cross his arms again. I glance up at him, and he looks… disappointed. “You couldn’t have told me all of this to my face?”

It makes my heart ache to hear it. To hear him just resign to the fact that we wouldn’t be in each other’s lives anymore. He just wishes I had let him know in so many words rather than turning tail and bolting. I feel like the rug’s been ripped out from under me and I want to run. I want to leave. I want to get away from all of this. Instead, I swallow down hard and shake my head. “I didn’t want an argument.”

“It wouldn’t have been an argument.” He replies and I want to die. “I would have simply told you no.”

“... No?” I frown, looking up at him slowly. His arms are still crossed, his head tipped to one side slightly as he regards me with something like amusement behind his eyes. I frown deeper.

“No.” He repeats. “No, I’m not going to just go back to the life I had before I met you. Not just because I don’t want to, but because I _can’t_ . A week with you and I found out that not only am I not _crazy_ , but I’m also not alone. You see what I see, and you use what you know to help people. You think that after everything you showed me, I could just go back to my desk job and carry on?” I bite the inside of my cheek and look away. “If I’m going to be able to see these things for the rest of my life, then I want to make use of it.”

“It’s dangerous.” I say helplessly and Shiro shakes his head at me.

“I never said it wasn’t, and I never minded that it was.”

“Shiro, you _died_ . This lifestyle is _deadly_.” I try and stress this to him but a part of me knows already that I’m wasting my breath because I’m not the only stubborn asshole in the room, I’m just the more reckless one. If Shiro is saying this, then it’s because he’s thought about it.

“You nearly died as well.” He counters and his tone shifts into something with an edge as his patience with me starts to fray. He gestures to my arm, still in a sling. “You nearly died on what was meant to be a perfectly routine job. I was part of a long standing plan that has been dismantled now. I doubt either of us will ever be in that position again, so _stop_ trying to bury yourself in the guilt of what was as much a freak accident as to what happened to you. Neither of us knew the _fuck_ what we were dealing with until it was too late.”

He cows me into silence enough that I can’t help but take a half a step back from him. I stare up at him for a long moment and he stares back, daring me to open my mouth and argue with him some more. I open my mouth and instead of a fight I just say, “...I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you swear.”

That catches him off guard. Shiro blinks and frowns slightly as he thinks back on what he just said to me. “I- yeah, I don’t usually swear.” He admits and something about that just makes me laugh. A flat little laugh at first and then it grows hard enough that my shoulder is aching and I have to sit down on the coffee table to try and keep myself still. By the time I’m calmed down again, I have my face in my hand, staring at the carpet between my feet and my laugh is becoming a little more of a sob, barely held back. Shiro slowly lowers himself down in front of me, his hands coming to rest lightly on my knees. I drop my hand away, brushing my fingers over the back of his hand. So warm. His expression is soft again, his thumb rubbing circles against my jeans. “I can’t go back to my old life, Keith. I can’t just pick up the pieces and pretend none of this ever happened.”

“I… I know.” I mumble, closing my eyes against the mist gathering over them. No more tears, _please_. My hair falls over my face and Shiro carefully pushes it back.

“And I also can’t pretend that you and I never happened.” He tells me and when I don’t open my eyes he strokes along my cheekbone, rubbing under my eye until I’m coaxed into looking at him, my skin feeling hot just from the most basic affections. It feels like it’s been so long since he’s laid a hand on me. I had spent so long with him dead in my arms. I had resigned myself to a life without his touch ever again, after only a brief few days with it. That had made it all the more devastating; I thought I would never know what our futures would have been like, what potential we had together. This is overwhelming. I’m so fucking weak. “I like you.” I squeeze my eyes shut and let out a shuddering breath, turning my face into Shiro’s hand, my lips brushing the inside of his wrist. Shiro sits himself up further, pressing his forehead against mine. “I love you.” He says it so incredibly softly I might have missed it if he weren’t saying it almost against my lips. I hate that Bazeliel’s voice comes crawling out from the back of my mind.

_He’s never felt love before, not after what I took from him. So an ember can seem like a forest fire when one doesn’t have a comparison._

Well, Bazeliel can fucking choke. I don’t have much of a comparison either, and an ember can turn into a forest fire if you nurse it long enough. I open my eyes again, meeting his warm gaze with mine, probably one full of fucking terror, but I don’t back down from it. “I love you.” I tell him, my voice wavering so I say it again, firmly. “I love you.”

“Don’t ever tell me to walk away from you again.” Shiro warns me, pulling me back from him so he can level me with a stern look clumsily being held up over his warmth. I bite my bottom lip and nod. Shiro gently frees my lip from my teeth so that he can kiss me, a feather stroke of a smooth, soft mouth over mine. “We’re a team.”

“We’re a team.” I agree against his mouth. I open my eyes just to look into his, dark and shining. Alive. We have both so many questions built between us, confusion about what was real and what wasn't, but for now this moment is enough. This little moment where one thing is crystal clear: we are real. We are alive.

-

I scowl at myself in the oval mirror above Shiro’s stupid bathroom sink, which is basically a big glass bowl that sits atop the bench rather than set into it, and it has to be cleaned nearly daily otherwise it gets water spots on it, says Shiro. I’m fumbling with the stupid blue bowtie that Lance is making me wear to his wedding given that I’m the best man, but I’m _this_ close to taking my hunting knife to the stupid slip of silk because I can’t get it to sit properly no matter how many different google results I look at. I let out a growl of frustration at the same time that Shiro laughs to the left of me, leaning against the doorway.

“Do you not know how to tie a bowtie?” He asks me, like this is some sort of life skill that I should come pre-equipped with. I give him a serious side-eye, my hands coming to a still at my neck. He’s standing with his dress shirt tucked into his slacks but it’s not buttoned across his chest. The huge, jagged scar that runs down his sternum is visible. The scar left behind from his ribcage bursting open through his flesh. It’s healed up over the months, the scar tissue healthy and pink and it hasn’t done anything to limit his mobility but… I remember, when I look at it, what I failed to do. We still don’t know exactly how it is that Shiro came back to us; the widely accepted explanation is divine intervention. Pidge and Allura have both looked and not found any clear answers within his mind, and there is a definite point where his memories stop and start up again. Where I had lost him and where he had come back. I exhale out my nose and Shiro shakes his head at me gently. “Stop thinking about it.”

“I’m sorry,” I murmur, averting my gaze before I go back to fumbling with the bowtie. “Do I look like someone who’s ever worn a bowtie before?”

“I figured I knew what I was dealing with when you had to hire a suit.” Shiro laughs, coming up behind me and pressing a kiss to my ear, his breath warm on my skin. I squirm away from him, pouting loudly into the mirror and he rolls his eyes and grabs me by the shoulders, twirling me around to face him. He makes quick work of the frustrating slip of fabric and if he thinks it’s cool that he knows how to tie a bowtie, then he’s a bigger nerd than previously thought. Which is an impressive feat, because as I’ve come to learn in the months of coexisting with Shiro, he is a _huge_ fucking loser with an intense interest in aliens (he was openly disappointed when I told him I had never seen any proof of them), comic books and in college he had had been an _avid_ player of D &D. It’s how he met Matt. I have a feeling that if I had met him in high school, I would have beaten him up and stolen his lunch money. He twirls me around again to show me his work in the mirror and sure enough, the bowtie is sitting perfectly between the tips of my shirt collar. I give him a lopsided smile as I turn back to him, and pulling him in by the open fronts of his shirt, I kiss my thanks into his mouth.

“At least I look good in my hired suit. It wasn’t cheap.”

“You do look good.” Shiro agrees, wrapping his arms around me and sliding his hands down the curve of my back and right down to my ass which has my attention. My smile turns into a grin but as I have unfortunately found out before, Shiro’s bathroom is not ideal for a quickie at all. There’s no where to fucking sit on the counter because of his stupid sink which is also uncomfortable as all hell to lean over. The rim digs into my stomach when I do.

And we also have a wedding to attend, and Shiro isn’t even dressed yet. I sigh a great deal as I push Shiro away from me, dragging my hands down his chest before catching his shirt front to button it up for him. “Later. It’s traditional for the best man to fuck the prettiest bridesmaid or something, right?”

Shiro snorts. “Romantic. I’m not a bridesmaid.”

“But you will be by far the most attractive man there.” I say as I slide the last button into place and smooth the white cotton down his torso. He really is a _beautiful_ man. He fills out a suit perfectly and I get to see it quite often since he wears one to work nine times out of ten. “Come on, we’ve gotta go soon. Finish getting dressed.”

Hunk and Lance got their early June date for their wedding, and they booked out an expensive hotel ballroom on the upper east side of Garrison that takes Shiro like an hour of navigating traffic to get to. We get there before most of the guests so I can do my best man duties, which don’t seem to be much besides calling for Shiro to help Lance with his fucking bowtie and then plying him with whiskey so his nerves settle. We sit together in his hotel room and when he babbles nervously about how fucing excited he is to marry his best friend, I actually understand it. I understand all the romantic crap that he’s been gushing for years, I understand why Lance’s phone is full of photos of Hunk, why he looks at him like he makes the damn sun rise every morning. Lance knows that I know and he’s happy for me even though he’s still in the dark about what happened that landed me in hospital for a week. He just knows that Shiro stuck around me throughout my recovery from my handful of injuries and after that, there wasn’t very often a time when we weren’t next to each other.

When it’s time for us to go down to the ballroom for the ceremony, Lance pulls me into a hug and we stand there for a long time, squeezing each other tight in quiet, joyful solidarity that life is _good_ right now.

The ceremony is beautiful. Everyone thought it would be Hunk that bawls his eyes out, and he does, but so does Lance who also calls him ‘bro’ during the vows, which were enough to have me sniffing quietly and trying to look inconspicuous from my place near the alter. I could give you the details. I could try and describe it all to you and give you the vows as close to verbatim as possible, but it was an intimate, private moment between two of my best friends and I think I want to keep it like that. Keep it between just us.

It was beautiful and everything they deserved, and that’s about all anyone needs to know.

Shiro comes with us when we separate from the guests to take photos as a wedding party out in the hotel gardens and while Hunk and Lance are getting their photos taken, we walk hand and hand through the sprawling rose garden, enjoying the last of the afternoon sun together. It’s easy for me to forget that Garrison is a pretty beautiful city because I see so much of it at night, often from the narrow alleyways of central. But there’s a reason I’ve stayed here my whole life, a reason why even at the worst of times I’ve never seriously considered leaving this place. Shiro puts his arm around me and pulls me against his side as we walk and he lets me be quiet and pensive so he can be the same. It’s peaceful.

Shiro has heard my best man’s speech about a million times in the past week because I am _not_ a public speaker in the least but he had helped me cobble together something decent and Lance socks me on the shoulder and gives me one of his back-cracking hugs when I’ve finished stammering through it. When I sit back down Shiro takes my hand and kisses it lightly and I’m grateful for when the food comes out and I don’t have to talk anymore. Hunk obviously found his dream caterer.

“You have to dance, Keith.”

“I _can’t_ dance.” I huff out while staring at Shiro’s offered hand with a stiff back, my arms folded over my chest. Shiro is smiling at me patiently, wriggling his fingers at me. I pout and slump down into my seat but Shiro doesn’t relent for even a second. He pries my hand free and drags me to my feet and then out onto the dance floor where couples are slow dancing together. Lance is dancing with one of his nieces, her little feet standing on the shiny toes of his shoes. Shiro pulls me in close to him, wrapping an arm around my waist and keeping my hand in his. I roll my eyes and dead weight against him so he’s almost having to drag me around the dance floor.

“You’re being a brat.” He says with a laugh, and I give in and straighten up, resting my free hand on his shoulder lightly. I have to glance down between us until I figure out the way he’s moving his feet so I can avoid standing on them and Shiro kisses my hair as I do. Once we find the right rhythm I lean into his chest, listening to the thrum of his heart under the music filling the ballroom. I don’t think I’ve ever slow danced with _anyone_ before. I hadn’t gone to prom or anything like that and this is my first wedding. The opportunity just hadn’t presented itself until right now, and I guess it’s the way I want this particular cherry popped. As the song winds down Shiro brings us to a stop and I rest my chin on his chest, blinking up at him.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” He gives me a lopsided smile, putting both arms around me. “What are you thinking about?”

“Did you hear what I heard out in the garden?” I ask as I rub my hand along his undercut. Out in the garden when we were walking I had heard a strange, curling whisper from among the trees surrounding the perimeter, something menacing but not enough to need my immediate attention. Shiro had made me put my hunting knife back in the glovebox before we got out of the car. He ruins all of my fun.

“Mhm, any idea what it was?”

“I have a few ideas, but I’m not entirely sure yet.” I say as the next song comes on and Shiro wraps his arms around me a little tighter and lifts me off my feet a few inches. I laugh and cling to him, and let him dance me around like a little kid with my cheek pressed to his. “What are you thinking?”

“No fighting the supernatural on Hunk and Lance’s wedding day.” Shiro says and I grouse but agree. “So we come back tomorrow night and check it out then. Deal?”

“Deal.” I nod so that my cheek rubs against his and he gently sets me back down on my feet so we can dance like the adults we occasionally pretend to be. I gaze up at him like the lovesick schmuck that I am, thinking about the past four months of our lives together. While I had taken my time healing up because Shiro had forced me, he had taken it upon himself to research anything and everything he could get his hands on to better equip himself to fight everything this world could throw at him. Not everything goes according to the books, but it’s a good base knowledge and Shiro has a steel trap mind apparently because very few details escape him. He’s formidable out in the field, too, with impressive strength and a mind for strategy that I’ve never really had. I jump after him now, not the other way around. I haven’t broken a bone since.

“I love you, too.” Shiro grins, catching my chin to kiss me for as long as he can before it becomes inappropriate in a crowded room. I laugh into his mouth.

“Getting cocky, Takashi.” I murmur and then I’m interrupted by a hand coming to rest on my shoulder and we both turn our heads to see Allura.

“Do you mind?” She asks Shiro and he’s happy enough to hand me over to her, kissing the back of my hand like a true gentleman. I watch him go back to our table where Coran sucks him into conversation, though Shiro has gotten considerably better at translating his enthusiastic rambling. Allura takes my hands and places one on her waist and keeps the other in hers and it might look like I’m leading the dance but I’m really not. She looks beautiful in blue, her hair piled up off of her neck and kept in place with crystal-tipped pins that catch in the light. She loops her arm loosely around my neck and we sway together. “You look happy.” She tells me, and she’s right.

“I guess I’ve forgiven myself.” I admit, looking at Shiro but Allura gently turns me back to face her with a hand on my cheek. “Or I’m starting to.”

“He’s happy and healthy. You don’t have anything to beat yourself up about.”

“He still dreams.” I say quietly. We both still dream, waking each other up at night in panic or fear. But we’ve also gotten good at calming each other down, reminding each other that it’s okay _it’s okay_.

“He probably always will, but they are just dreams. Little scraps of something that he survived.” She says gently, stepping closer to lean her head on my shoulder. Her hair tickles my neck. I rub the small of her back and relax. “I’m proud of you, Keith.”

I sigh and look across to our table where Shiro talks animatedly with Lance, smiling brightly and bigger still when he catches my eye and winks.

He's proud of me, too.

So I guess this is my life now. I still have the unglamorous job of protecting Garrison from the overspill of the hellrift we sit on top of. I still live in my small apartment in the bad part of town, I still drive my crappy truck and I still deal with the alienation that my gift has forced upon me. I still deal with the aftermath of saving the fucking world.

But I don’t deal with any of it alone.

This is my life now.

And it’s good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first things first: one of my amazing readers drew FANART OF THIS FIC AND i'M IN LOVE!!! [check it out here and give it some love!!!](http://yoshirueme.tumblr.com/post/160182532312/i-stop-in-my-tracks-standing-in-the-mouth-of-the)  
> EDIT: [EVEN MORE BEAUTIFUL ART I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS](https://theprojectava.tumblr.com/post/160387004338/the-watcher-you-taught-me-the-courage-of-stars)
> 
> secondly, i made a short playlist of some of the music I listened to as I wrote this fic. I watched a lot of movies as well but rather than make a list, i recommend you just watch literally every single horror movie netflix has to offer. The playlist consists of one song per chapter and a "prologue/credits" track.  
> Find the playlist here on [8tracks](https://8tracks.com/stickylistens/raise-some-hell) and it will later be posted to my [tumblr, so keep an eye out there, too!](http://stickywrites.tumblr.com)
> 
> thirdly, a fun fact: the word 'fuck' in all of its variations is used 235 times in this fic. Almost exclusively by Keith and Lance. Tsk tsk.
> 
> And lastly.  
> Holy shit, guys. Here we are. 65k+ words later, eight chapters, a roller-coaster of life events in the short month it took me to pump this fic out. It happened so quickly because of you guys!! All the love lit a fire under me and I wrote almost every day for hours at a time to get new content to you as quickly as I could. I have loved every single moment of this fic, and although there are things I would go back and revisit, I'm so happy with what I have to offer as the finished product. This is my second time ever writing for Voltron. My first time publishing in 1st person POV. The first time my writing has ever inspired people to DRAW ART FOR IT. I love my readers.  
> Keith and Shiro made it.  
> This is the end.  
> Isn't it?


End file.
